


Five Things Tatsuki Did Not Do

by EveryEye (Thief_Queen)



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Gen, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 18:03:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thief_Queen/pseuds/EveryEye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The options in life are endless. Here are five 'what-if' stories about the roads not taken. Tatsuki & Ichigo -centric</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cutting a Cord

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: If it's got anything to do with Bleach, I don't own it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note #1: Presented for you consideration, five 'what-if' tales about Arisawa Tatsuki. Five experiences she might have had while struggling to deal with her spiritual awareness, estranged friends, and tumultuous life-but didn't.
> 
> This first chapter takes place directly after the events of Chapter 239, when Tatsuki punches Ichigo's head through a window.

 

* * *

**1st Thing Tatsuki Did Not Do: Leave**

_I cut some cord_  
And I shouldn't have done it  
And it won't forgive me after all these years  
-Big Black Horse and a Cherry Tree  
by K.T. Tunstall

* * *

She could feel his retreat more than see it; the thrice-damned tears gathering in her eyes drowned out her vision. They didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Everything that mattered had deserted her for reasons still frustratingly unknown.

Keigo was still limply hanging onto her arms, though it was obvious she wouldn't be running after him. _Him._ That…that…she couldn't find the words. How do you find the words for such a betrayal? How do find the words for a person who you looked out for nearly your whole life, only to have them throw it in your face? What rock do you look under? What hole do you dig?

Keigo and Mizuiro were herding her away from the scene she had made; it wouldn't be long before school administrators came and she got in serious trouble. It was a pointless, if considerate gesture. Dozens of students had seen her outburst and were probably talking about it right now. It was only a matter of time. Apparently, everything was.

The broken glass crunched under her feet as they led her away, as if mocking her efforts. She did not struggle. It was pointless to do so. Before she had noticed where they were taking her, they were already off of school property and, ironically, down by the riverside. Probably they didn't think anyone would bother them here. Keigo was pushing her to sit in the grass as the boys did the same.

"You know," Mizuiro was saying, "he's obviously just trying to protect us from something." His voice was timid and uncertain, not of his statement, but of his addressing her; he was nervous. Keigo too. She could see it in how they moved and glanced sideways at her, afraid to look at her directly, like a bright, burning sun. They were afraid of her uncharacteristic quietness and listless manner.

_They should be afraid,_ she thought. _My anger IS like the burning sun._ She could feel it twisting in her heart, even as she sat unmoving. She could feel it tearing cords in her chest. Her response to Mizuiro was sharp. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Keigo's stupid grin came back, but its nervous edge remained. "Well, at least we know that he's not acting like a jerk because he doesn't care about us."

The burning fire in her chest was evident in the heat of her words. She bolted to her feet to growl down at Keigo. "If he cared about me at _all_ he wouldn't have said Orihime was none of my business." He flinched, but did not back away. "If he _cared_ about me, he would've told me the truth after I almost lost my _life_ at the dojo, instead of pretending like it never happened!" Mizuiro stood and tried to touch her shoulder, but she could not be calmed, and smacked his hand away. "If he _cared_ about me he would've helped me become strong instead of giving me up for weak!"

"Tatsuki…" Her eyes bored holes into them, but both of them looked down, away from the fire they saw there. She felt a small pang of guilt, then, as she recalled that they were just deserted as she was.

"Enough," she said, calmer, but resolute. Her eyes were dry. She wouldn't give up one more tear to this wreck of a friendship. "Enough." She turned and began to leave the riverbank.

"Wait! Tatsuki!" called Keigo. "Where are you going?" They called, but did not chase her, or come close—she was a dangerous animal, a rampaging dragon. How could Ichigo ever have imagined they could look after her?

"Don't just walk away!" Keigo shouted, for the first time more anger than fear in his voice. That _did_ make her stop. _Yes,_ she thought, _I guess they've had enough of that too._ Slowly, she turned to face them. _I will explain myself, but it will not change a thing._

"It's not just Ichigo," she said, struggling to reign in all the anger and sadness. "It's Orihime too. All this time, she's been lying to me too. After everything, after all the weird things, neither of them could just _tell_ me. What could they possibly think of me, of my friendship, to keep up such a lie? Even after it nearly _killed_ me?" Mizuiro and Keigo had no answer. They understood too well.

"Well, if they really knew anything about me, they would know I'd rather be dead than weak. And if all they can see when they look at me is someone too weak to know the truth, I'd rather be dead to them."

The boys looked at her with alarmed expressions. "What do you mean my that?" asked Mizuiro.

"All these months, my friends got closer and left me behind," she said quietly. "Now, I'm leaving them too."

* * *

It was not hard to convince her family to let her transfer to a distant school. Ever since the fire that had reportedly killed most of the members of her dojo, her parents had observed her becoming more depressed and distant, and had been waiting for _something_ to give. Perhaps this would be a welcomed change for her.

"What about Orihime?" asked her mother. She knew the girls were close, but she had not seen the girl around in quite a while, and when asked about her Tatsuki had just shrugged.

This time as well she was met with another shrug. Looking down, her daughter said, "She's made new friends. I don't see her a lot anymore." Her mother frown, but said nothing. She suspected there was more to it, but perhaps digging deeper would just make it worse.

"What about that Ichigo?" asked her father.

Tatsuki scowled. "What about him?"

"Don't you hang out with him anymore? You were such good friends." Personally, he had always suspected his Tatsuki had a crush on the boy that she was no good at expressing without violence. _Takes after her mother_ , he thought ruefully.

Her scowl deepened. "I haven't been friends with him in a long time," she said tersely. _He hasn't been my friend in a long time_ , she amended in her mind. Her parents again exchanged dubious looks with each other, but said nothing.

"Alright, Tatsuki. We'll arrange for you to go. But you'll have to get a part-time job to pay for an apartment if you're going to school that far away." Tatsuki just nodded.

"Would you like to have some sort of get-together here with your friends before you go?" her mother asked.

"No," Tatsuki quickly shook her head. "In fact, please don't give out my new address when I get it."

This took her parents by surprise. "Why would you want that, dear?" asked her father.

"I just…I have some things to work out. With the dojo and everything. I have things I need to work through. And for that, I need to be _away."_ Her parents knew the look in her eyes, and exchanged glances, thinking they understood the code: her two best friends had broken her heart.

It was true. Just not in the manner they suspected.

* * *

Ichigo, Orihime, and the rest of her rescuers returned just under six weeks later, triumphant if a bit haggard. As they returned to their homes in the wee hours, or at least the place they were to lay their heads and rest that night, they felt relieved; everything was right in the world again—all the pieces properly aligned.

Ichigo always had sucked at sensing reiatsu.

Upon their return to classes, Orihime was disappointed to find that Tatsuki was not in class, and Ichigo was puzzled—if slightly relieved. He still hadn't thought about what to say to her. Neither of them noticed when her name wasn't included in the roll call.

It wasn't until lunch—when Ichigo finally managed to corner Keigo and Mizuiro, who had been avoiding him—that he understood something was seriously wrong outside of what he had been expecting.

"Look, I know you've been avoiding me. I'm sorry for a lot of things," he said solemnly. "I understand I have a lot to explain, and I will—" he started, finding it difficult to speak when their faces were so sullen. "In fact, if you'll hear me out, I'll explain everything right now. Where's Tatsuki? She needs to hear this too."

If he had been making headway with the boys, this damaged it. "She's not here," Keigo said miserably.

Ichigo did not get it. "I know, she wasn't in first period. Where is she?"

"Who knows?" asked Keigo, bitterly looking away. _The only thing he asked us to do was look after her and we couldn't even do that_ , he thought. _No wonder he thinks we're weak._

"What Keigo means to say," Mizuiro stepped in when he saw Ichigo was not understanding, "is that she doesn't go to school here anymore. She transferred."

For a minute, Ichigo did not think they could be serious. But their faces did not look like those of men telling a joke. "Where?!" he asked in a frustrated tone.

Mizuiro almost looked apologetic. "She didn't say."

The situation was spiraling badly. Something like fear was chewing in his chest, and the only way to alleviate it was to shout. "How could she just leave without telling anyone where she was going?!"

Mizuiro and Keigo started at Ichigo with sad faces, which were worse than any snarky comments about irony they _could_ have made. They didn't feel like being vindictive. There were too many negative feelings in the air already.

* * *

Ichigo tried asking around the school about where Tatsuki had gone to, but, to his frustration, everyone he talked to seemed to know less than Mizuiro and Keigo. Orihime tried visiting her house, but although Tatsuki's parents greeted her with warmth, they would not give her any contact information; they made it clear that Tatsuki had _things_ to work out, and needed her space. Orihime suspected that they had made their own opinions on what the _things_ were, but they could not possibly know the truth.

A few weeks later, Orihime was passing by the riverbank and saw Ichigo squatting in the grass, looking to the water. As if by a magnetic force, her feet turned her body to walk up behind him.

It was minutes before she broke the silence. "I can't sense Tatsuki like she told you she could sense me," she said. She wasn't sure why she said it, like an explanation and an apology wrapped into one. He hadn't asked, but she knew he wouldn't, and she couldn't let any such question stand between them.

For a long time, he did not respond, until finally in a low voice he said, "I can't remember what her reiatsu feels like."

Orihime didn't understand, but also didn't know what to say. When he wasn't forthcoming, she tried to prompt him, "I don't know what you mean, Kurosaki-kun."

Sitting in the grass with his chin on his knees, he gripped his elbows tighter. "If I could remember what her reiatsu feels like, I could look for her. I could find her," he said in a voice carefully even. "But I never paid attention to it. And now I just don't know."

Orihime stared at the water that twinkled and danced in the fading sunlight. Didn't it know how miserable the world felt? "Do you think she'll ever forgive us, Kurosaki-kun?"

Ichigo just stared at the flowing river. It was the same river Tatsuki had found him at on various occasions, but the rushing water from those times was forever gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note #2: I should probably warn everyone right now, these five what-if tales aren't going to be fluffy. But if you can tough it out until the epilogue, I promise you there's a shiny reward at the end.
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcomed and encouraged. No matter when you find this story, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Thanks for reading!


	2. Waiting for the Prey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note #1: This story begins during chapter 211 of the manga, when Ichigo fights Grimmjow for the first time. All dialogue between Renji and Ichigo is taken directly from those pages.

* * *

**2nd Thing Tatsuki Did Not Do: Join Aizen**

_Fallen Angel waiting for the prey_  
The Devil has come to take the maimed away  
-The Scarecrow  
by Tobais Sammet

* * *

Worry had been forming in the pit of her stomach all day, settling at the bottom like a lead weight. No matter how she tried to ignore it, she could not shove away the ominous feelings that washed over her like the winds of an on-coming storm.

It was almost a relief when she felt them come. Sitting on her bed, the towel she had used to dry her hair draped over her shoulders, she could feel the tension break with an almost audible "snap." She didn't know what to call it, this perception that she had, but the static in the air felt exactly as it did on the day she had left her dojo only to find herself kneeling before a giant in a field of her dead friends. Somewhere in the city, more of the monsters had arrived. She could _feel_ it.

 _Ichigo_ _must be going to fight them._ Details of the incident outside the dojo were still fuzzy. She was now fairly certain that some of Ichigo's… _associates_ , she would call them, had tried to blot out her memory. As a trained fighter, her memory of fights and perilous situations were usually extremely sharp—she could recall the types of attacks her opponents were using, the style of their movements, and even their words—if they said anything at all. Noticing these details were essential to her growth as a fighter and so as she trained her body, she trained her memory as well.

However, from that fateful day, she couldn't recall any of what was said, only how she had felt—as if the atmosphere around her were pushing her down into the earth. Foggy, dream-like images of Chad, Orihime, and Ichigo fighting drifted through her mind, but she couldn't connect them into the proper order. It didn't matter; she didn't need a perfect timeline. It was clear what had happened, regardless, and it only confirmed what she had suspected now for quite a while; the three of them had weird powers, and were fighting monsters, and were keeping it a secret.

Tatsuki growled at the thought of it. It was not that she didn't understand why they might want to keep such and oddness on the down-low, but they were _erasing her memories._ Or trying too. She was sure of it. On the day in question, she had mysteriously awoken in her bed bearing no injuries from the incident. However, she could not satisfactorily account for how she had gotten there. Her mind suggested to her that she had walked home after school, but how could that be true? How could that be reconciled with the memory of a dark woman and a man with a hat staring down at her with serious faces? Of the hideous giant and the sad-masked mime? As more memories started to surface, she wrote them down in a journal she had been keeping containing her accounts of the _other_ weird recollections. An enormous tentacled beast. A terrible pain from being shot in the head. A snake with a human head towering over her in Orihime's apartment.

It was like recording on a blank tape. The more you erase it and start over, the more difficult it is to get a clean recording.

And yet _no one had said anything._ At first she thought that her friends had been silent because they, too, knew nothing and thought they might be crazy, like she did. But as time went on, there was a pattern to their camaraderie that could not be ignored. Could they really expect such outrageous occurrences to stay a secret forever? Did they really expect her to never recall it?

Tatsuki put on her shoes and a hoodie for the chill night air. She was going to get to the bottom of this, and this time, no one was going to take her memory of it away.

* * *

It turns out she didn't have to go far to spot Ichigo. She found if she simply concentrated on her thoughts of him, her feet steered the way of their own accord. After walking only two blocks, she could already hear the sounds of his battle—which wasn't very hard, considering the incredible noise they were making. _Am I the only one that can hear it?_

She craned her neck to the sky, where her sharp eyes could see Ichigo's bright orange hair. Somehow, with everything else she had been experiencing, seeing Ichigo and his opponent standing in the sky didn't surprise her. Dressed in that black kimono— _It is always that same outfit. Where did he get it?—_ he was engaged in a serious battle with a blue-haired man. Her heart clenched in worry for him. _At least it's not a tentacled beast. And he's been fighting things like this for a while now, right?_ However long he had been hiding this side of himself from her, she suspected it had been long enough to rack up quality experience at…whatever it was he was doing.

As she continued to observe the brutal fight, she began to worry she would be spotted—by the monster _or_ Ichigo. _If he sees me, will he have them erase my memory of this too?_ Trying to keep an eye on the pair, she took cover behind the large retaining wall that ran down the street in front of her.

She couldn't have known, but it was a terrible mistake on her part. The fight was so far away—how could she have guessed that Ichigo would be thrown into the other side of the wall she was hiding behind?

As it collapsed on top of her, she cursed herself for a fool.

* * *

The clashing colors of their hair were like warning signs in the moonlight. It was appropriate; the broken wall, the crater, the wreckage all around deserved the loud reds and oranges both of them naturally displayed.

 _He has that look,_ thought Renji. The minute he had finished his shunpo he could tell by the way Ichigo stood that something was wrong.

"Did the arrancar go back to Hueco Mundo?" Renji asked. He kept his voice even; Ichigo was boiling under the surface—he didn't want to rupture the current calm. "And did ya win?"

"I lost," said Ichigo, unable to turn and look him in the eye.

Sometimes, Renji did not understand Ichigo's propensity for self-accusation. "Dumbass. You're still alive, so isn't it the same thing?"

"Don't bother lying to me," said the substitute Shinigami.

 _Phfft. As if I'd bother lying._ Renji was about to open his mouth when Ichigo continued.

"If you were in my position, I doubt you'd be able to say that." The misery rolling off the boy's words were palpable, and left Renji silent. "I can't protect anyone. I can't even heal those who are injured. I really lost this one."

Ichigo was so wrapped up in what he thought was his failure, he didn't sense what he was about to _really_ lose.

* * *

As she laid under the rocks, painfully twisted, she thought she could hear Ichigo's voice. She tried to call out, but she couldn't expand her chest enough to _breathe_ , let alone shout.

 _Ichigo…_ her world melted into darkness.

* * *

Szayel Aporro Grantz was, first and foremost, a scientist. And as a scientist, he had a strict, thorough practice of research. Making observations and collecting specimens for experimentation were as essential to him as training was for the greatest swords master.

It was for this reason that he had tightly concealed his reiatsu and crept into Karakura town just after Tosen had drug Grimmjow back.

Uloquirra had been right, even if that idiot Grimmjow couldn't see it; it was not Ichigo Kurosaki's current strength that was most threatening, it was his potential. From studying the residual reiatsu patterns left over from Ichigo's fight, he might be able to establish his current growth rate and project the trajectory of his progress. _And stay one step ahead of it_ , he thought with a smirk. He would also be able to gauge the strength and abilities of the other Shinigami currently in the town by examining any remains left of Grimmjow's Fraccion. But any information he could gather would have to be found now, immediately after the incident, before the minute reiatsu signatures that were so difficult to detect evaporated into the ether.

He had never met the anomalous Shinigami causing such a stir, but marks of his fighting style were plain for those that knew how to see them, as Szayel did. Distinct from Grimmjow's reiatsu, the trail he left behind _here_ at the crater in the street, _there_ in the wall would teach the scientist much of his abilities.

It did not surprise him that no human officials were out observing the wreckage; it seemed that dim-witted, cattle like people of this world almost intentionally ignored the inexplicable events caused by the action of individuals from the spirit realms. _Their minds are so weak,_ he thought scornfully. He had thought briefly of capturing a few and dissecting their brains to understand this strange behavior, but concluded they weren't worthy of his scientific efforts.

 _Speaking of the wall…_ something _interesting_ seemed to going on amongst the rubble. A young, dark-haired soul was standing in front of the pile, the chain from her heart leading down into the strewn rocks. She was straining at the end of the chain, looking in every direction and trying to climb over the rocks as if in search of…something.

The naked desperation on her face was amusing. He moved forward to crush her soul to dust.

It was then that he sensed it; the marks of that freak Shinigami's reiatsu were all over this one, too. A friend of his? _This could be fun._

"Back off, monster!" shouted the soul in question. Apparently, she had spotted him too.

Calmly, he sidled up to her, unconcerned with her ferocious front. This, like everything, was science too. He had to investigate her and find out what she knew, how she was connected to Kurosaki, and how he could use that to his advantage.

"Monster? I am but a Shinigami here to collect your soul," he tried to smile in a non-threatening way, but he knew he was like to fail. It's hard to be non-threatening when you enjoy threats quite so much. Still, in order to take the measure of her, he needed to carefully guide her answers.

"A what? Bullshit. I don't know what you're called, but I know what you _are._ You're the same as those other freaks—the mime and the ugly giant! I can feel it. Stay back, or so help me you'll regret it!"

Szayel's mind was already calculating. Such a small speech, but so much to be learned from it. _Stay back, or so help me you'll regret it._ The precise stance she slid into suggested she was a trained fighter, and confident in her abilities. She did not realize they would not avail her now. _The mime and the ugly giant._ Obviously she had seen Yammy and Uloquirra, meaning she did possess at least a nominal amount of reiatsu in life. _I don't know what you're called… That_ was interesting. She reeked of Kurosaki's reiatsu, and clearly had seen other Espada before him—and lived—but she didn't know what they were called?

Pressing the investigation onward, he continued, "Do you know what's happened to you?"

"A wall fell on me, dumbass. Isn't it obvious?" He could tell she was scared, but was covering it with bravado. If she actually _could_ stand against him, it would have been more impressive.

He allowed himself a small smile. "I meant do you know why there is a chain hanging from your chest?"

Her silent glare told all. _Amazing,_ the scientist thought. A spiritually aware soul connected to the enemy of Hueco Mundo, and she didn't know anything. How fortunate. Time to turn the situation to his advantage. "Have your Shinigami friends just left you here?"

"What?!" Her violent outbursts were consistent, in any case. It was difficult to resist the urge to simply destroy her, but he kept reminding himself of all the _interesting_ experiments this would allow for.

"Your friends that run about in the spirit realm. Black kimonos? Swords? I'm sure you know what I'm referring to."

"Ichigo?" From the why she scowled afterwards, he knew she hadn't meant to say his name out loud. He smirked at the confirmation. She continued, "What do they have to do with anything?"

"I can see that I'm going to be the one to explain it to you," he said with mock concern in his voice. "You are currently very near death, and that chain is what connects your soul to your body. If your chain is not disconnected from your body before it dies, your soul will die with it. Normally, a Shinigami comes to disconnect the chain before that happens…but I can see that no one has come for you."

 _Will she be able to sort out the truths from the lies?_ No. How unbelievable, to find someone in her position without the slightest clue. He examined her face, only to find it a jumble of emotions. She was afraid of her own peril, distrustful of his words, confused and hurt by the absence of her friends. _It's time to put the pin in this specimen._

"Of course, _I_ can help you," he smiled.

"I told you to stay back!" she roared. "My friends _will_ come. It hasn't even been that long!"

"This is not a waiting game," he said seriously. "You're body is on death's door, and could cease its functions at any minute. If your chain isn't broken before that, your soul is forfeit too." It was hard to lie with such a straight face.

"They'll be here when they need to be," she spat at his feet. "They won't let me down." In this, her resolve was firm.

Turning up his peskis, he reached out to sense the positions of the Shinigami currently in the town. Not only were none near by, but there were none moving towards this position either. The majority of them appeared to be resting after the fight earlier that evening. In this, he saw his chance.

"Fine," he said in the most gracious voice that he could. "I'll make you a bargain. I will leave you here to see if your friends come. But if they do not, and if you are still here at the first light of the sun, I will break your chain and take you to the spirit world with me."

"They _will_ come," she growled.

"As you say," he smirked, and sonidoed off to find out what he could from the other fights before the deadline.

* * *

In the first rays of dawn, his smug face was almost too much to bear. His voice was almost apologetic as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"I told you they wouldn't come. Now, it is time to go."

"NO! I didn't agree to go anywhere with you!" Futilely, she struggled against her own chain and tried to avoid his reach. When she couldn't, she attempted a right-hook. He dodged it with eased and grabbed her wrist.

"It's useless," he sneered, grasping her chain. "Admit that they've abandoned you." His voice had finally taken on the outward hostility she new had been bubbling beneath his surface.

"You don't have to say it out loud," he said with mirth. "I can already see it in your eyes."

"Orihime!" she screamed, desperately. "Ichigo! ICHIGO! HELP!" Szayel's laughter drowned out her cries.

And with one firm pull, he broke her chain in two.

* * *

The next day, when Tatsuki's body was discovered underneath the rubble by civil servants, her death was declared a tragic accident. Her parents were beside themselves; they hadn't even known their daughter was out of her room.

In despair, they called the only other parent they knew of her daughter's friends: Isshin Kurosaki. They hoped he would be able to shed some light on… _something._ Had she been out with Ichigo and others that night? Did the kids know anything?

Isshin, of course, couldn't tell them what had _really_ happened, so instead he just allayed their fears that it was anything other than a terrible mishap—little comfort that that was.

Upon hanging up the phone, he prepared himself to tell his son that his childhood friend was dead. It was not a conversation he wanted to have.

It was not a conversation he _could_ have. As Yuzu had just discovered when she went to wake him for breakfast, Ichigo had disappeared.

* * *

Szayel Grantz was a scientist. For this reason, he would try to draw every bit of information and learning he could out of each and every specimen he collected. Tatsuki Arisawa was no exception. In fact, as a person who was connected to Kurosaki, she was the perfect example.

First, he did a cursory study of her reiatsu patterns to learn what her powers and/or _potential_ powers were. Her levels were low, but clear and growing—or at least, they were. This was promising—once he deconstructed her, he could build her into a powerful tool.

Next, he erased her memories. Not just a few, but all of them. Everything that made Tatsuki Arisawa a unique individual—all her memories from life and personality—were purged. The wipe was so thorough that Szayel was briefly concerned she would forget language or motor function. However, when he jolted her awake for the first time, those fears were laid to rest.

"My name is Szayel Aporro Grantz. I am your master," he said to her blank face. "What is my name?"

"Szayel Aporro Grantz."

"And who am I?"

"My master."

"And who are you?"

The girl stared blankly and drew her brows together. "I don't know."

A thin smile spread across his face and he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You will learn."

* * *

When Ichigo learned about Tatsuki's death, he had immediately tried to jump into a flurry of action. Unfortunately, in the two days he had been training with the Vizard, he had effectively lost the window of opportunity he had to track down her soul.

When he didn't find her soul at the place where she had died, he used shunpo to race to every Shinigami that had been working in Karakura town and find out if they had done a soul burial for her. None of them had. The reiatsu signatures at the wall were too cold to learn if anyone besides her ( _and me and Grimmjow_ , he thought bitterly) had been there, but at the very least he was able to determine that she hadn't been consumed by a hollow.

In frustration and anguish, he spent the next year and a half searching through Rukongai for her in every spare moment that he wasn't training; if no one he knew had done a soul burial, it was possible a random Shinigami had. He had already combed the streets of Karakura and she was not there. If he did not find her in Rukongai, he would sift Soul Society through a strainer.

She was his oldest friend, and he had let her down in life. He could not let her down in death.

* * *

_18 months later_

Incursions from Hueco Mundo were not exactly an everyday occurrence, but they certainly weren't _unheard_ of. So, when the big rip opened in the sky, and the team moved to intercept the intruders, there was no reason to believe this wouldn't be a standard fight with "standard" surprises.

Fortune was not on their side.

As five arrancar descended from the rip, all Ichigo's attention was drawn immediately towards one. It could not be otherwise; he had searched the land and heavens for her for months. _But I didn't look in Hueco Mundo!_ he berated himself.

Her hair was long, but chopped in odd chunks, almost as if she had been tearing out clumps. Her face was deeply scarred in random gashes that hadn't been healed properly. She was a horrific mess, and Ichigo ached inside and the thought of what they must have done to her. But her appearance didn't matter. What mattered was that she was wearing a white kimono, holding a sword, and sporting a sadistic smile.

As the others began to fight, Ichigo stood spellbound, unable to look away from her even as she turned to take a chop at Ikkaku with her sword. "TATSUKI!"

Her lack of response was so complete, he absurdly thought that she must be deaf. "TATSUKI!" he roared, rushing towards her.

"KUROSAKI-KUN!" a voice pierced the air from the ground. Amazingly, he was able to stop in his tracks and turn to the voice, which had been too desperate to ignore.

Orihime looked like Ichigo felt, the sorrow and uncertainly naked on her face. "Kurosaki-kun. Please, let me take care of Tatsuki." It was a plead.

"What?! I've got to—"

"ICHIGO!" yelled Rukia from somewhere in the distance, "The eighth Espada is here!"

Orihime looked at him with large, sad eyes. "Kurosaki-kun, please trust me with this. If I can't reverse what's been done to her…" her statement trailed off as her eyes trailed to her best friend, fighting Ikkaku with reckless abandon. _After all this time, do I have the right to call her that?_

With a resolute look, he nodded his head. _I am not the only one who has searched for her all this time._ "Bring her back to us, Inoue." Rapidly, he dashed off to engage Szayel, leaving his faith in Orihime that he would have a chance to redeem himself with his greatest childhood friend.

* * *

The fight between Szayel and Ichigo became brutal and messy very quickly.

"What have you done to Tatsuki?!" roared Ichigo.

"Who?" smirked Szayel.

"TATSUKI! The soul you kidnapped!"

The smirk turned into a thin smile. "Kidnapped?" he asked innocently. "I didn't kidnap her. She came with me of her own accord."

"LIAR!" the intensity of Ichigo's attacks increased.

"Am I?" he asked casually. "She waited there all night. She waited until the sun rose in the sky, for someone to come for her. For her friends to collect her soul. For _you_." His smile was unbearable. "The look on her face when she realized she had been abandoned was priceless."

"We'll have her back," Ichigo growled, trying to bring the fight to a close.

"You'd be better off to destroy her," sneered Szayel. "I've completely erased her memories and personality, and created a new one a little bit…more to my tastes." Ichigo tried to impale him on his sword, and in his anger missed. "It will all have been worth it to see you forced to kill her."

The camel's back had broken. "That will never happen," he said, and pulled down his mask.

* * *

Deep inside herself, Orihime tried to draw on the spirit of her friendship with Tatsuki to give her the courage to face the girl now. _Tatsuki would have stood against anything to protect me,_ she thought. _I can face this to bring her back._

She signaled to Ikkaku, and the bald Shinigami started to lead the fight towards her. Quickly, she put up Santen Kesshun to protect herself, and sent Soten Kisshun to try and envelope Tatsuki, which was easily dodged. The black haired arrancar's attention was immediately diverted to her.

"What's you're problem, bitch? I was having a good time fighting with your bald friend," she spat. She banged a hand on the shield experimentally. "What the hell, aren't you even going to fight?" She tried to strike it with her sword, but to no effect.

Orihime had her right where she wanted her—listening. In her heart, Orihime knew that if she could find her friend in the woman before her, she could get her to cooperate with the Shun Shun Rikka. "Tatsuki-chan," Orihime said from behind her shield, "I know that you must be very angry at us." Try as she might, she could not control her tears. "But please, come back with us. With _me._ No matter what they've done to you, I can fix it."

The woman before her sneered. "What the fuck are you talking about?" She was not the most patient of people, and renewed her efforts on the shield. "Come OUT of there and FIGHT! I want to tear off that pretty little head and see what's inside."

"No matter what you are now, you _were_ Tatsuki Arisawa—my best friend. And you will be again. You just have to give us one more chance to help you."

 _This stupid bimbo is really irritating me,_ thought the arrancar. _What's the quickest way to make this turn bloody?_ "Tatsuki? Never met the bitch. She was probably an airhead just like you. Now how about starting this fight in earnest?" she punctuated her remark with a toothy leer.

 _I can make her recognize me,_ Orihime thought desperately. Then, it came to her. She recalled the fight, so long ago, that had put them in similar situations. Though the octopus-like hollow had control of her mind, Tatsuki had found herself upon staring into Orihime's eyes. _It will be like that time. And once she realizes who she is, Shun Shun Rikka will fix everything._

"My name is Orihime Inoue," she said as confidently as she could. "Look into my eyes, Tatsuki, and tell me you don't remember the faith I had in you." She pressed her face as close to the shield as she could, where the other girl's face hovered.

The arrancar pressed close too, trying to frighten the girl with her own piercing eyes, and was disturbed by her own response. For some reason, looking into the girl's eyes _did_ bring back a memory—a memory of rock and crushing pain. She did not like it, and struggled to force the unfamiliar feelings from her mind.

Schooling her face to look lost, she whispered, "Orihime?" A single tear slid down her cheek. "Where am I?"

Orihime gasped, dropped the shield, and surged forward to embrace her. "Tatsuki!" she cried with relief, squeezing the other girl with all her might, "Tatsuki, I knew we would be together again."

"It's so funny," the arrancar who had been Tatsuki stated.

"What is?" asked Orihime, pulling back to look her best friend in the eyes.

"I don't usually play with my food like this," she sneered, and twisted the girl's head around until it snapped.

* * *

From where he had just defeated Szayel, Ichigo turned just in time to see his oldest friend kill Orihime, and the only chance she had of being cured. It was then he understood that the Tatsuki he knew was really and truly gone, for she would never have harmed the gentle girl now lying broken in the street. His heart was rending itself; for all that was done, for all that was _not_ done, and for what he must now do.

* * *

She had no sooner dropped the bright-haired girl than she felt a searing pain impale her from behind and sprout out the front of her chest. She was so busy savoring the look of surprise on the girl's frozen, dead face that she didn't even notice the Shinigami approach.

"Ha, ha!" she chuckled, even as her arms shook and her hands reached to grasp the sword. In his programming, Szayel had not given her a particularly high regard for existence—herself _or_ that of others. "Is this anyway to treat your Takusi?"

"It was TATSUKI!" roared the man behind her, twisting the blade. "TATSUKI! And don't you dare even say her name." This only caused her to laugh harder, her body rending as her movements jerked her against its sharp edge. She was going to die, and it didn't matter. Killing the bitch had been the most fun she could ever remember having, and this man's pain was just so _funny._ It was worth it to go out like this. Her only regret was she could not turn to see the tears she could hear in his voice.

Between her blood loss and the hilarity, she was so caught up in the moment that she almost missed his words. Perhaps she was meant to. "I loved you," he said in a growl that was almost a moan. It was not an accusation; it was a plead.

She did not know this man, but his anguish was delicious. "Who, Tatsuki?" She smiled even as blood dribbled from her mouth. "Did you tell _her_ that?"

His silence and sudden cease of movement gave her the answer.

Her laughter reached its crescendo. "You're too late!" She cackled. "You're too late!"

His anguished cry ringing in her ears, her world darkened as her body slid from the length of the blade and fell to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note 2: I had originally intended to diversify, but I've come to grips with the fact that these will all be centered around her relationship with Ichigo. They just went that way each time I started, and I didn't fight it. Hopefully everyone can live with the results.
> 
> As always, constructive critiques and comments are welcomed and embraced.
> 
> P.S., Remember, (s)he who holds on for 5 chapters of angst shall inherit the fluff.


	3. Right Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note #1: This story takes place directly after the scene in the manga (chapter 239) when Tatsuki punches Ichigo through a glass window. It is completely unrelated from the events of chapter 1

* * *

**3rd Thing Tatsuki Did Not Do: Smother Her Sorrow  
**

_Right here_  
Make it all disappear  
Everything that we've been missing  
You make me feel  
There's a part of me that I want to get back again  
-Deep  
by Nine Inch Nails

* * *

As he walked away from them ( _deserted them_ her inner self raged) she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the tile and scattered glass beneath her. She had already punched his empty head through a window, and it hadn't shattered his stubborn ignorance. If she had to look at his back as he strode down the hall, she wouldn't be able to control herself, no matter how futile she knew her violent rage would be. And then someone would _really_ get hurt.

_Someone already_ is _hurt_ , she thought bitterly. Her head was swimming with so much turbulence, time was beginning to blur. How long had she been here, standing in the ruins of her friendship? One minute? Five? Ten? How long had Keigo been behind her, holding her arms?

_Wait_ , she thought. Realizing that he was actually supporting her weight, she ripped herself from his hands as if he had burned her. "What?!" she yelled at the gathering crowd, glaring at them as if _they_ had wronged her. "Don't you all have somewhere to be?! Something better to do?!" Her embarrassment could only be expressed as anger. It was bad enough that Ichigo thought she was weak. She didn't need everyone else pitying her and making it worse. Turning on her heel, she stormed down the corridor and left rows of fearful-eyed students in her wake.

She had just reached the exit of the school and kicked open the door when she heard him yelling down the hall. "Arisawa!" She did not deign to stop or even turn around. He must have been running, because she wasn't 20 feet from the building when he caught her arm.

Unwise thing to do to an enraged karate expert.

* * *

In less than two seconds, he was flat on his back and had knocked his head pretty hard against the pavement. _I guess it pays to have a hard head,_ he thought when he realized he hadn't lost consciousness.

"Don't sneak up on me like that!" she yelled. Since there was no way anyone, anywhere could have interpreted what just happened as him "sneaking up on her," Keigo chose to translate that sentence into, "I didn't mean to do that." It seemed plausible enough. Despite his throbbing skull, he brushed off the incident and rose to his feet.

Tatsuki looked like a cornered animal, ready to run or fight, whichever opportunity presented itself first. She had the grace to look at least a little ashamed of she had done, and that expression was warring with "impatience" and "anger" on her face. At any other time, he would have giggled at the sight. But sometimes, just sometimes, even _he_ knew when not to cross a line.

At any rate, she clearly hadn't stormed off only because she felt guilty, and he was going to use that to his advantage.

"Arisawa, I know that you're really upset right now—" he began.

"Really!" she growled, interrupting. "What gave it away?!" Apparently she wasn't in the mood for round-about conversations.

"—but I just wanted to tell you that me and Mizuiro," he held up his hands as if to signify he wasn't a threat, "we're here for you."

When Tatsuki did nothing but stare at him, her eyes burning like coals, he lost the modicum of confidence he had started with and began to ramble. "'Cuz you know, I mean, Ichigo didn't exactly tell _us_ what was going on either. Heh, heh," he started to scratch the back of his head only wince upon touching the lump that had formed there. "And, I mean, we know what it's like to…um…we know what it feels like to…" Looking at her, his train of thought derailed. _Nice going, Keigo,_ he berated himself. _Is it too much to hope for that just_ once _I could find something to say that isn't completely lame?_

Keigo had never felt more awkward than during the minute of silent starring that followed. Then, without comment, Tatsuki turn and strode away, head down and shoulders bunched.

_Take care of Tatsuki, he says,_ thought Keigo, watching her savagely kick a can out of her path. _And everyone says_ I'm _the idiot._

* * *

When Tatsuki arrived at home that evening, she ate dinner with her parents, but could not seem to fill the empty pit in the bottom of her stomach. She showered, but could not wipe away the gritty feeling from her skin. After the events of the day she felt hollow, devoid of _something_ that she couldn't identify, but whose absence made her ache like a jaw whose teeth had been yanked from its sockets.

She sat on her bed and toweled her hair, trying to avoid thinking about the look on Ichigo's face as he told her recent events were "none of her concern." But like a scab that you can't stop picking at, she kept opening the wound until she was sure she would bleed to death, one drop at a time.

When Orihime had first told her about her interest in Ichigo, she had silently hoped it was a passing fancy of the whimsical girl. With so many odd thoughts and ideas running around that girl's head, she thought that surely this, too, would pass and fade. When it became clear that her infatuation was not only permanent, but _serious_ , Tatsuki put her own half-formed feelings aside. This girl had so little, and had lost so much. Who was Tatsuki to try and take away one of the only things that made her smile? _The one person whose job it is_ not _to do something like that_ , Tatsuki had thought. As a friend, as a _guardian_ , she would make that sacrifice.

Besides, with the sole exception of his father, she had known Ichigo longer and better than anyone else in the world—longer than even his sisters, since they met before the two girls were born—and it was likewise for him. Wasn't that a relationship that would forever be just between them? That couldn't be taken away? Something that special, she believed, could be enough.

_But I was wrong,_ she though, angrily rubbing the towel against her hair until it stung. _Wrong about everything._ It wasn't enough, and it wasn't special because it apparently wasn't something that _he_ treasured.

And worst of all, she was forced to admit that maybe she hadn't known him the longest, for somewhere along the way she seemed to have stopped knowing who he was. How could she conclude otherwise? Before this morning, she never would have thought him capable of such a… _dismissal._ But in the end, it was just one more thing she was wrong about.

The more she thought about it, the more her chest felt like it was hollowed out inside, and the more her anger spiked. _And I don't even have Orihime to talk to._ Looking down at her hands, she realized she had ripped the towel she was holding, and particles of cotton were falling into her lap like so much snow.

She couldn't be here anymore, pacing in her room like an animal in a cage. Everything here was anger and emptiness and isolation, and it made her want to claw at the walls and rend with her teeth. Everything reminded her of just how alone she now was.

She opened the window, and using her fighter's agility, climbed down from the second story and into the street.

* * *

By the time he had finished hanging out with Mizuiro and discussing how to best prepare themselves for the shit-storm that was on the horizon, it was already dark, and an empty apartment greeted him. He wasn't quite sure where his "house guests" had gone off to, but both they and their things were absent. _Just as well,_ he concluded. He had not been too keen on having them…whatever they were…stay in the first place. Seemed like too much of a risk for collateral damage. Leave it to his sister to have a thing for men without hair.

He shuttered when he realized he no longer even _thought_ the word "bald."

Speaking of his sister, where was she? No sign of her in the apartment. Probably out with friends for the rest of the evening. _At least I won't have to put up with her._ He had no sooner thought this than there was a thumping at the door. _Great, the harpy returns._ He didn't even think about the fact that his sister wouldn't be knocking because she has keys.

On the list of things that he thought could possibly be revealed in the doorway, Tatsuki was located somewhere between Big Foot and the Loch Ness Monster. Big Foot, of course, was higher on the list than Nessie, being a land animal and a biped. If it _had_ been Big Foot, Keigo might have known how to react—screaming, and perhaps a desperate search for a weapon. Finding Tatsuki, though, left him at a loss.

"Uh…H-hi, Tatsuki." _Arrrgh. Seriously! Whatever Gods are watching, just once I want to know what to say._ She did not respond, but kept looking pointedly down at his feet.

"Uh…come, come on in." As she shuffled in, he screamed at his mind to think. Suddenly, his eyes landed upon a remote lying on the table, and he seized upon the idea. "TV!" he blurted out loudly, causing her to jump.

When she fixed him with an incredulous expression, he quickly said, "I mean…uh…how about some TV?" _At least she isn't looking at the floor._ She was nodding her head silently, her face veiled in weariness. _Yes, TV,_ he thought. _Helping people avoid awkward social situations for decades._

Leading her to the couch, they both sat down and he started flipping through the channels. At first, he thought something with fighting in it, but just as he passed an Ultimate Fighting broadcast he realized that fighting might remind her of Ichigo, and maybe that wasn't the best way to go. Then, he thought about something mindless, like a cooking show. But _that_ might remind her of Orihime and her weird concoctions. Sci-fi channel? No. _That_ might remind her of the crazy crap happening in _real_ frickin' life.

In the end, he settled on some stupid romantic comedy ( _girls watch this sort of thing, right?)_ that focused on multiple, bizarre love triangles between best friends, childhood friends, exotic new comers, the quiet librarian…your standard romantic drama/comedy. In its own way, it _was_ mindless, because in Keigo's estimation, you'd have to empty at least one-third of your brain to make sure there was enough free space to understand the convoluted plot.

He was so wrapped up in trying to understand who was cheating on who that he didn't even notice that Tatsuki had started tearing up. _Crap!_ He thought in a panic. _Do I notice? Do I not notice? Will she beat me into liquid if I acknowledge it?_

_How the hell did this happen?_

* * *

She had put her mind on autopilot, and now it was crashing. The stupid movie that stupid Keigo put on, absurd as it was, only served to make her remember all her own confused feelings. Since when did chick-flicks affect her like this? Since when did she get all sad and weepy over something that wasn't even _real_ , as if she didn't have enough things to deal with already?

"Tatsuki?" Keigo's hesitant voice could barely be heard above the television.

_Crap, he noticed._ Quickly, she wiped her eyes with her knuckles. "What?!" she asked irritably. It was like she could not control herself. She could feel everything unhinging.

His face took on an unbearable smile, even if he meant it to be gentle, "Its okay if you have to cry."

Before the words had even left his mouth, her fist had shot out and punched him in the nose. She really hadn't meant to, but in the moment all she could hear in his voice was _pity,_ and her anger was so bright it blinded even her.

Luckily, it wasn't as hard as she _could_ have hit him. His head snapped back, but his nose did not break. _I'm out of control,_ she thought.

He drew his head back to face her, and stared for almost a minute while his vision straightened. When he finally regained his senses, his voice was tinged with frustration and disbelief. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" he yelled. "What did I _do_ to you?!" It sounded like his patience had come to an end. "What do you _want_ anyway _?"_

What did she want? What _did_ she want? _I feel like I'm pieces of a shell, falling apart around an empty center._

_Wait…_

Like a jolt from the sky, Tatsuki realized that this wasn't who she was. This person she was becoming wasn't her. _What am I, an emo?_ Tatsuki Arisawa did not mourn the things that were not given to her, she _took_ what she wanted. Tatsuki Arisawa did not dwell on hollow vacancies when they appeared in her life, she acquired new treasures.

She was Tatsuki. She was the eye of the tiger and the tooth of the dragon. If Ichigo didn't want her or her friendship, she didn't need or want his. She was done with feeling empty, and on to feeling anything else.

She looked at Keigo, brows still drawn together in something like anger, and remembered what it was like to feel empowered by that indignation, not defeated by it.

Her decision was made. She would begin right here, striking her sadness with… _other things._ Swiftly, she grabbed Keigo by the face and yanked him in for a kiss.

* * *

He hadn't particularly wanted to snap at her, but _damn_ if this whole thing wasn't just too much. She had already clobbered him outside his school. Did she really need to come over to his house to beat him up too?

As he looked at her, awaiting a response, her face underwent a shift. Before, where her eyes had smoldered with quiet defeat, they know blazed in her head with a determination he couldn't place.

Then, before he knew what had happened, he was kissing her. _Wait, what?_

He jerked back to look at her in the face, but failed as she grabbed his shirt and pulled him back for another. _I've gone insane, and this is all in my mind. The only other explanation is that it turns out women_ are _all crazy, even Tatsuki._

This time, when he pulled back, he put his hands on her shoulders to keep her at a distance. When he finally did get the chance to say something, all that came out was, "Wha..?"

"What?" Tatsuki asked, as if she didn't know.

"What do you mean what?! You just…I mean, you just…"

"I just kissed you." Her voice was matter-of-fact. "And if you would shut up, I'm going to kiss you again."

His brain was falling out of his ears. Must be. "I know what you _did._ But why did you do it?"

She looked miffed, as if the question had somehow insulted her. "Does it matter?"

"What do you… _of course_ it matters!"

"Why?" The word was a challenge.

For a few minutes, all he could do was stare. And then, it hit him. He could not say what it was, but all the pieces fell suddenly into place. The rest of the world could say he was stupid, but let it be known that Keigo would always get there in the end. _She's in love with Ichigo. She's in love with him, and this is like revenge._

Somehow, the implication that he was being used did not make him feel hurt. In an odd way, knowing Tatsuki, and knowing she had chosen him for this made him feel…well…flattered.

_Take care of Tatsuki._ Taking care of someone meant not taking advantage of her weaknesses. If anything, this whole situation was starting to make him feel guilty.

While he was thinking, she had acted upon his seeming indecision by grabbing his collar again. As she was about to pull him close, he managed to get out, "No! Tatsuki wait—"

"What?!" she said, exasperated. "What?! What kind of problem could you have with this? Don't you know to take something when it's offered?"

He ignored her anger. He needed to find the words to show her how this was a folly. "Tatsuki," he began, trying to sound reasonable, but firm. "I know how you feel about Ichigo. And I know that what's going on right now is really rough. But seriously, this isn't going to fix anything. This isn't going to make you feel better. And later, we'll both just regret it." He did not say anything about not wanting to take advantage of her. Making the implication that she _could_ be taken advantage of would land him a broken bone quicker than taking up hockey.

If he thought that she would acknowledge the flaws in her plan, he was sorely mistaken. Instead, her face looked even more fiery, even more resolute. He could see already that he was on the loosing side of the war.

"This isn't about Ichigo _,"_ she said, pulling her shirt over the top of her head. "This is about Tatsuki." Keigo thought his eyes were going to fall out of his face. "This isn't about what happened in the past, it's about how the future is going to go down _my_ way." With one hand, she unhooked her bra, and slid it off her shoulders. "This isn't about feeling _better,_ it's about feeling something _different."_ In one strong arm, she grasped the front of his shirt. "And I know I won't regret it, so I'll make sure _you_ don't either."

Keigo did not have the wherewithal to refuse her case. She was a rampaging dragon. Even if he did try to stand against her, he would only be incinerated in her wake.

* * *

He looked up at her, the warrior woman straddling his hips and arching her back, and he had two thoughts: _She's beautiful like this,_ and, _I wish she looked happier._

* * *

Waking up from a light doze, he checked the clock. It was still well before dawn and black as pitch outside the window. He was about to fall back asleep when he remembered what had been going on before losing consciousness the first time.

Rolling to his other side, he saw that Tatsuki was still there— _Had that really been real?_ —lying on the opposite side of the bed with her back to him. After watching her for a moment, he could see that her shoulders were shaking; she was crying as silently as she could.

He let out a quiet sigh, and rejected the impulse to take it personally. _It's not like she's crying about_ you, _Keigo_ , he thought.

Before that day, he would never have dreamed of doing what he was about to do. Probably, he never would again. But _right now_ was a special time in his mind; an anomaly, an exception. The entire night had been.

Reaching across the space between them, he rolled her towards him and tucked her head under his chin. "This, too, will pass, Tatsuki," he whispered. "Everything does."

She didn't pull away, but she didn't stop crying, either.

_I never know what to say._

* * *

She woke him in the early hours of the morning, just as the first light of the sun was peeking over the horizon. She had swiftly rolled over and her feet landed on the floor with a soft "thump." Her sudden movement roused him from sleep, and by the time he looked over she had already found her panties and was in the process of putting on her bra. Keigo could take a hint, and started dressing himself.

His back still turned to her, he asked, "Would you like a shower?"

"No."

"Would you like something to eat?"

"No."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

"No."

Exasperated, he turned to face her, and in a tone of voice he hoped showed he would brook no nonsense, he said, "Tatsuki." _Be reasonable_ , his eyes said. He had understood that this was not meant to be a "thing," but he would not let her brush it off.

When he looked in her eyes, he did not find any of the things he feared he would: denial, aloofness, regret. Instead he saw steel in her eyes, as if they had been forged in fire and quenched in the sea. This, in its own way, was a shame. Like steel, they were strong, hard, and unyielding—but lacked a certain warmth he felt they used to hold.

As she spoke, her voice was even. "Thank you, Keigo."

Her eyes lacked warmth, but her words were sincere. What could he possibly say to her that conveyed the torrent of thoughts he had about what had happened?

"You're welcome."

As the corner of her mouth turned up in a slight smirk, he realized that this was it. This was the _one_ time in history he would ever say the right thing.

* * *

As she walked from Keigo's apartment, she realized that the hollow space in her chest had been covered over, like a metal board placed upon a deep hole in the road. It had not been filled in; it was not sound for building any foundations upon, and it was unlikely to ever be so.

But it was no longer a gaping wound, and she knew when Ichigo came back his presence would not be able to probe at its edges and make it crumble wider. She would not need to hear his excuses, she would not need to hear him at all. For good or ill, that part of hear heart had been sealed, tied off with a tourniquet, and she could move on with her life.

She should have felt relief, but all she felt was an ache in her joints.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note 2: Still not a happy story, but probably less painful that the last one. Critiques and comments encouraged! Thanks for reading!


	4. When the Heart Stops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note #1: I wonder if anyone will forgive me for this one.

* * *

**4th Thing Tatsuki Did Not Do: Hold a Grudge**

_If you listen (If you listen)_  
Listen close (beat by beat)  
You can hear when the heart stops (I saved the pieces)  
When in broke (and ground them all to dust)  
-Bleed Black  
by AFI

* * *

Seven weeks. _Seven weeks_ they had been gone, _seven weeks_ she had stewed over their absence, _seven_ _weeks_ she had stared at their empty desks and had to fight her warring feelings of fear for their lives and anger for their betrayal.

Then, three days ago—the Friday night just passed—she felt them return. The tension in the air had suddenly released itself, like a cloudburst, and she had known that they were safe. Breathing a grateful sigh of relief, her head had flopped to her pillow. The anger that had built itself a home in her heart was overruled, and she was surprised to find herself more than a little eager at the prospect of seeing her friends again.

Secretly, she hoped Orihime would visit her that very night, despite the late hour. Ichigo she expected would have… _other_ responsibilities, but maybe, _just_ maybe Orihime would be as keen to see her as she was. In a way she didn't quite understand, she needed flighty girl's friendship. Orihime's gentleness softened her; smoothed her edges and kept her fiery temper in check. Beyond missing her friendship and company, she could _feel_ the difference in her behavior getting worse—and she was sure everyone else could too in her ever shortening fuse and edgy, easily irate demeanor.

She was a little disappointed when she woke the next day and realized Orihime had not stopped by. _She was probably just exhausted,_ Tatsuki thought. She had no idea what the girl had been through, after all, and in the end she had to admit that it was an unreasonable expectation.

In any case, the whole weekend was ahead, and that meant there was plenty of time for Orihime and Ichigo to each come and _finally_ let her into their world. After the altercation she had with Ichigo before he left, she didn't see any way around it for them, after all.

She stayed around the house all Saturday, and was further disappointed when no one called or visited. She began to worry that something was keeping her friends away that she wasn't aware of—could they have been injured, and were even now healing in bed? She could _feel_ that they were both alive, so she knew that it wasn't time to panic. But still she could not bring herself to seek them out. She wasn't sure if it was pride, or a need for reassurance of their regard for her, but something in her demanded that they be the ones to come to her.

When the night had fallen on Sunday, Tatsuki could feel the anger beginning to return, but squashed it down the best she could. She told herself again and again that _she did not know what had happened_ , and couldn't hold their absence against them on such shaky grounds. Meditating in order to still her frustrated nerves, she went to bed more anxious for the morning to come than she had ever been in her life.

All that anticipation had led to this moment now, Monday morning, which found her standing in the doorway to class. She could not properly describe the feeling she had as she walked in to see Orihime sitting between Ishida and Chad, the boys looming over her as if silently daring anyone to approach her. It was not the boys that gave her pause, but the look on the girl's face, as if she was savoring every moment of a simple morning, being at school.

A torrent of feelings flooded her. She was relieved to see the girl wasn't physically injured, as she feared. Her chest felt swollen with gratitude to any pantheon of gods that would claim her that she had her friend back.

There were also darker feelings, running a slight undercurrent in her blood: disappointment that Orihime hadn't visited her since the return, jealousy that the boys by her side clearly considered it _their_ duty to protect her. But those thoughts quickly fell silent as Orihime turned to face her, her smile lit up like the sun.

Tatsuki didn't realize that she had stopped in the doorway until Orihime was rushing towards her, practically knocking over her desk in the process. "Tatsuki!" Enveloping her in a hug, she thought the ginger-haired girl would squeeze all the breath out of her in short order. There was nothing she could do but squeeze back, tears threatening to leak from her tight hold.

"Orihime." She had no words. What could she possibly say to convey everything she had felt?

"Tatsuki, I'm so glad to see you. I've missed you so much." If possible, the hug was getting stronger.

"I've missed you too, Orihime," she had never heard her own voice sound so weak.

"I'm sorry that I left so suddenly."

That's when it happened. The thing that ruined _everything._ Just as Tatsuki was about to tell her that it was all right, that there probably wasn't anything that she could have done, that she's just so glad that her best friend is safe, Orihime continued, "My grandmother took such a sudden turn for the worst. I had to rush to be with her. I'm the only family she has left."

She kept talking, but Tatsuki could not hear her. All she could hear was the blood falling in her brain, beating a furious tattoo on the insides of her skull. "What?"

"My grandmother," Orihime prompted, for the first time sounding unsure. "The one I went to stay the summer with a while back." Her voice held a note of uncertainty that, more than anything, drove Tatsuki to almost irrational anger. _She's wondering if I'm buying her lie._

She needed Orihime to soften her edges. Seven weeks had left her temper very sharp and erratic indeed.

A bit more roughly than she meant to, she unwrapped her limbs from Orihime and held the girl at arm's length. "Your grandmother? Your _grandmother?!"_

She couldn't control the volume of her voice, and the rest of the students in the classroom were beginning to stare. She did not know when Ishida and Chad had moved to their side, but she knew they were involved in whatever… _this_ was and they would not be spared her wrath. "Her grandmother!" she leveled at them, like it was a curse. "Orihime says that she's been at her grandmother's," she growled at the boys. "Is that where you've been too? Have you been at her _grandmother's_?"

Tatsuki knew she sounded completely insane to the on-looking class, but it didn't matter. She knew by their downward gazes that _they_ knew, and that was all that really counted in the end.

"Tatsuki?" The voice came from behind her, past the doorway, and she couldn't help but know who it was. Whipping around to glare at her oldest friend, she caught the wide-eyed worry in his face.

"Were _you_ at her grandmother's too?! Is _that_ were you've been going all this time, dressed like a freak?!" She could see the shift on his face as the pieces clicked together, and realized that _he had not told them that she knew,_ and that had made Orihime feel compelled to make up a lie.

"Maybe we should take this conversation to the roof," said Ishida, who was seriously concerned about their audience. Class would start any minute, but they would miss it if necessary; Tatsuki's "dressed like a freak" comment itself had started a dangerous tide of murmurs among the rest of the students.

"Don't tell me where to have my fights, and I won't tell you how to drop-stitch, Ishida!" the class let out a collective "oooooh," but Ishida's only response was to frown and push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. He didn't know Arisawa Tatsuki all that well; perhaps he should have stayed silent.

"Tatsuki, please calm do-"

"I will NOT!" she interrupted Orihime's plea. The other girl reached for her but she stepped back—directly into Ichigo, who had taken a step forward.

"Tatsuki," his voice was serious as he dropped his hands onto her shoulders.

Tatsuki didn't like how things were starting to feel. With Orihime directly in front of her, Chad and Ishida to either side, and Ichigo caging her in from behind, she started to feel like a cornered animal. In a room full of spectators, no less.

_I'm not in a fucking zoo,_ she thought furiously. _This is not the fucking Tatsuki show._ She had had enough.

She brought her foot squarely down on Ichigo's instep, and while his balance was impaired she lunged upward so that the top of her head savagely connected with his jaw. In his surprise, she dodged away from his grasp and slipped through the door, into the hall.

Four faces stared at her from the doorway. "Stop looking at me with those stupid expressions!" she roared. "Stop looking at me like you're all sorry _now_. Now that I've called you out!" Her feet were already moving her backwards. Her voice sounded wild to her ears, but she couldn't stop it. Everything was falling apart.

"Tatsuki—" Orihime reached one shaking hand towards her, but the gulf between them was already too wide.

"Let me give you all some advice a friend gave _me_ once," she said snidely. "Don't concern yourselves with me anymore." The look on Ichigo's face when she said those words gave her a twin rush of satisfaction and guilt. She quickly brushed the guilt away as she turned and booked down the hallway.

Her feet carried her outside the front doors of the school, but still she couldn't stop. She hadn't put enough distance between her and Everything. She had always considered herself an adaptable person and a loyal friend, but this was simply too much. She couldn't abide Ishida's arrogant presence in the fiasco, acting so intimate with the friends that had pushed her away. She couldn't stomach Orihime lying to her about being kidnapped—to her face and with a smile, no less. But most of all, she couldn't bear the looks on their faces that suggested they were just as sorry _for_ her as they were sorry for hurting her. _How unfortunate she's not a part of the group_ , their eyes said. _How sad we've had to leave her out._

She _would_ have taken their apologies, but she would be damned if she would take their pity _or_ swallow their dishonesty. She was done.

She didn't realize where she was heading until she was already there. The first thing she saw was the river's swollen banks. The second thing she saw was Ichigo, standing at the water's edge in his Shinigami attire. Without explanation, she knew what had happened; he had ditched his body at school in order to beat her here. It was hard to say if he knew she would come here or if he was simply fast enough to have checked other places first.

Either way, his was the last face she wanted to see at the moment.

He held up his hands in the universal "I surrender" pose. "Tats, please, just hear me out for a min—"

"NO!" she growled. "No, Ichigo. You had your minute! I gave you your chance!" He took a step forward, and unconsciously she slid into a defensive karate stance. "Don't you dare come one step closer, or I'll make sure you have more regrets than you do right now." She could barely believe the malice in her own voice, but she couldn't control it, either. Something had snapped.

He stopped advancing, but he held out his hands again, this time reaching towards her. "Tatsuki, just—"

"No." This time her voice was less hysterical, but no less threatening. " _No._ I asked you, Ichigo. I asked you to tell me everything. I asked you to stop keeping secrets from me. And you didn't. I practically _begged_ you, and you left me in the dark anyway." She swallowed, and was proud that the waver she felt in her heart was not heard in her voice. "But I _waited._ Because I still believed in you, and because I knew you were always a dumbass that had weird ideas about how to protect your friends.

"So I waited. And I worried. And I _felt_ when you all came back—on Friday. And I waited even longer, for you to come and _finally_ explain everything, so I didn't have to feel all alone with these strange… _things_ I've been seeing. But you didn't come." Her heart hurt to see the look on his face, but her heart hurt so much these days, she couldn't distinguish the individual wounds anymore.

"So I came to school this morning ready to hear the truth. Ready to let everything go. And what do I get? Her _grandmother's_ house? Her _grandmother's house?_ They all think I'm an idiot, and you didn't even tell them." She ground her teeth, "You had all weekend, and _you didn't even tell them!"_

"Tatsuki—"

"Shut up!" she commanded, fire in her eyes. "You sure didn't say anything when I asked, and now I don't care. I don't want anything to do with any of you any longer." Her next words were said like a curse, "Stay away from me, Kurosaki Ichigo. I don't want to see your face ever again." She turned away to make her exit.

She didn't know what happened, but one minute he was twenty feet away, the next minute he was holding her wrist in a death grip. "I'm not going to let you leave without hearing me."

"You don't have a choice," she ground out, twisting in his grasp. No matter how she tried, she could not slip her wrist from his tight hold.

"You think I'm just going to let you run away from eleven years of friendship?!" he yelled. His voice held a tone of anger and disbelief that only desperation could create.

"OUR FRIENDSHIP IS DEAD!" She roared in his face. "Let go of me now, before I _hate_ you too!" The harsh statement was enough to startle him into dropping her arm. She took the opportunity to put some distance between them.

"I'm leaving now," her voice sounded like the slam of a door closing. "Don't follow me, or I swear you'll regret it."

She looked into his eyes as she said that last statement. She didn't know that would be the last time she would look him directly in the face. If she had, she might have tried to remember it more carefully, in spite of the wounded look she saw there.

She turned and stormed away, and in the wake of her wrath, even he didn't dare to follow.

* * *

Ichigo didn't give up right away. After all, he had stormed the gates of Soul Society _and_ Heuco Mundo. He wasn't going to balk at challenging _her_ either.

For a month, he tried to corner her at school. He tried to visit her at her house. He tried to catch her at the dojo and make her _listen,_ because he was sure if he could just tell her everything—what had happened, what he did, _why_ , and how he felt—if he could just tell her, then he was sure he could make her understand.

But she was not a willing audience. His very presence enraged her, and if he tried to use force to restrain her and _make_ her listen he only made it worse. For a month he tried to find the crack in her resolve that would let him in, but every way he tried he came up against stubborn refusal.

Staring at the ceiling above his bed, he decided that maybe the best course of action was to let her cool down for a while. A handful of weeks, and he could get her to come around, he was sure.

He wasn't willing to accept the consequences of a failure on this point. They would be too dire indeed.

* * *

It was two months after their last official fight, and one month after Ichigo had stopped endlessly harassing her, though he was still staring after her when he thought she wasn't looking. It had been two months since she last talked to Keigo, Mizuiro, Chad, or even Orihime, since she had accepted that Ichigo's friendship was a package deal, and it had been a long time since Orihime was a part of _her_ package and not his.

She was walking home from the dojo late in the evening when she felt it at the edges of her consciousness: a bright flare in the night, followed by a profound darkness where light once used to be. In spite of everything, her heart clenched; she could not breathe.

She just so happened to be by the river when she felt it. Unsteady on her feet, she climbed down the banks to collapse on the ground, face angled up to the stars.

She despised their happy twinkling. Didn't they know Kurosaki Ichigo was dead?

* * *

She had never been as nervous as when she stepped into the funeral home. She had debated with herself back and forth whether to come or not— _What good will it do now?—_ but in the end she decided that she would regret it forever if she didn't go. It didn't matter that it felt like wading across a river because the bridge had been burned down. I didn't matter that she had made herself an outsider, and everyone's faces would show it.

It wasn't about anyone who still had eyes to see, anyway.

She needn't have feared complete estrangement. The minute that she walked in the door, a wailing Yuzu collided with her and locked her small arms around Tatsuki's waist. "Tatsuki!" she sobbed.

Tatsuki ran her hand through the girl's hair and remembered when it felt like Yuzu was _her_ little sister, too. "I'm sorry, Yuzu." _For so much._

"Tatsuki," came a serious voice from her left, and there was Karin; too aloof to latch on to her like Yuzu, but holding her forearm in a tight grip that belied her feelings. Years ago, Ichigo had told her that Karin looked up to her. She silently hoped that wasn't true—Karin deserved a better role model.

Tatsuki gently pulled from her grasp and put her arm around the girl's shoulders. "I'm sorry, Karin."

"The prodigal daughter returns," said another voice from behind her. She knew it well, although she had never heard it as serious as this. "Hello, Tatsuki-chan."

Isshin Kurosaki looked like he had frayed along every possible edge, but was holding together strongly enough to give one the sense that he was an anchor for a ship in a storm. Likely, it was for his daughters' sake.

With both Yuzu and Karin still attached to her, her eyes cowardly dipped down to his feet. "I am deeply sorry, Kurosaki-san."

Isshin frowned at "Kurosaki-san" and studied her carefully. "You look like you haven't eaten in days. Beloved daughters, would you please fix a plate for Tatsuki-chan in the kitchen? There should still be some leftovers from dinner." Tatsuki had not thought about it, but it dawned on her that Isshin and the girls had probably been at the funeral home the entire day, and had food delivered in order to stay.

As the girls headed towards the back, Isshin turned to her and managed the best smile he could. "I know a lot has happened, Tatsuki-chan, but you've never called me 'Kurosaki-san,' and now doesn't feel like the time to start."

He was right. When they were little, Tatsuki was around so much that she had started calling him "Uncle Isshin." She hadn't done so in quite a while, but then again, she hadn't seen him in quite a while either.

When she did not look up at his face, he continued. "I know it was hard for you to come today, but you have my thanks. The girls are beside themselves, and without much family here, it's been difficult for them without another familiar face."

"How can that be," she asked, looking him in the eyes at last. "There are so many people here that knew him." Her eyes swept around the room, but she was careful not to let them linger on any one person, lest they look back at her. "Orhime, Chad, Keigo, Mizuiro. Even…" She trailed off before mentioning the Shinigami present, but they were there, lining the walls. "They're here. I mean, why wouldn't…"

Isshin shrugged. "Those people were never around the same way _you_ were, Tatsuki-chan. The girls never bonded with any of them. They will be grateful for your presence. They always looked up to you." He put a hand on her shoulder, "Ichigo did too."

She swallowed hard and looked away. "Did he tell you?" she asked, ashamed to discuss it with his father, who was, in a way, like a father to her too. "Did he tell you what happened?"

Isshin nodded. His face was serious, but not accusatory. "He told me he messed everything up," he said matter-of-factly. "Though I must confess, I always thought everything would work itself out in the end."

She could do nothing but nod in acknowledgement. Somehow, she had felt that too. In the last month—a month _with_ his presence, but _without_ his friendship—her anger had substantially subsided. She could _feel_ his anxious desire for her friendship on the back of her head while they sat in class, in the stare he thought she couldn't see, but also in the spiritual pressure he could never suppress. It was the proof that he cared about her that she had always wanted, but he was never able to provide.

She had felt it softening her temper, and the grudge she clung too. She hadn't seen it before, but in hindsight, she would have forgiven him soon.

And now it was too late.

Refusing to let tears form in her eyes, she had to ask the question that had been gripping her heart since she felt the flare at the river, "He's not just dead, is he?" She couldn't say how she knew, but Isshin would understand her question.

His voice was solemn, with the undertone of a broken heart. "No."

"That's why the Shinigami are here. That's why they look so sad, too," she said, her voice breaking with the realization she had known, had _felt,_ but had not wanted to accept. "It's not that he's dead—his soul is gone."

Isshin nodded gravely, and did not look her in the eye, lest she see the tears his voice refused to give away. "His soul was consumed by an arrancar. An Espada." He shook his head and looked at a point of nothingness up and to the left. "If he were merely "dead," he would continue on as a Shinigami in the spirit world. But this is what it means to really be dead—to have your soul obliterated."

He looked at the empty body of his only son, and grasped her hand—as much to reassure himself as to reassure her. "True death isn't when the heart stops."

Tatsuki could only nod in agreement, for she knew exactly what he meant. Her heart still went on beating in her chest, thudding like the pound of a war drum. But the substance of her life was already growing cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note #2: Think of these first five chapters as cleaning out a festering wound. It really hurts, but you've got to do it so that things heal properly. Trust me, these will all come full-circle in the end.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with this difficult, angst-filled story. Comments/critiques always appreciated. Even if they're just to tell me, "STAHP TEH ANGST!"


	5. Silent Speech, Deaf Ear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note #1: This chapter makes reference to the "replacement" of Karakura town in the final chapters of the Winter War, but was actually written before Tatsuki and the others woke up in cannon.

* * *

**5th Thing Tatsuki Did Not Do: Fail**

_And in my prayers, I dream alone_  
Silent speech to deaf ear  
-Age of Innocence  
by The Smashing Pumpkins

* * *

Tatsuki was a woman of action.

When Ichigo brushed her off like so much chaff, she _acted_ by following him to a strange building, which turned out to have another world tucked away beneath it. When he left through a big rip in the sky, and the owner of the building confronted her and the two boys, she _acted_ by demanding he tell them what was going on. When he told them what was, she figured, the minimal amount that they needed to understand the situation, she _acted_ by asking him to train her so that she could make herself useful. And when he refused, saying that he had extremely important work that must be carried out, she _acted_ by throwing a punch at his smarmy face.

Her fist was caught, and the hat-wearing man gently but firmly told her that it wasn't a reflection on her or her potential, per se, it was simply that he did not have the time. After all, training Inoue Orihime and Yasutora Sado had taken quite a bit of effort—effort he could not put into her training while completing the vital tasks at hand. The work he was about to undertake would have dire consequences for the survival of her friends as well as her town. Surely, she could understand.

When he was finished, she _acted_ by ripping her arm from his grasp and storming away. Sure, she understood. But it's not like that made it less painful. In fact, it made it _worse_ —knowing that her friends might die, and there was not a damn thing she could do about it.

If that remained the case, there could only be two possible outcomes for the storm that was brewing on the horizon, that she could feel beneath her skin: either her friends would come home victorious and she would have to endure the knowledge that she was worse than useless to them in their greatest time of need, or she would have to bury them. Given both choices, she would most certainly choose the former, but if felt like comparing death by guillotine and death by being drawn and quartered; one was certainly better, but in the end, she would still be dead.

So, while stalking around the city and savagely kicking any random objects that happened to lie in her path, Tatsuki tried to reason out a third option for herself, because she sure as hell wasn't settling for the first two.

 _I can_ see _them,_ she said to herself. _I can see the ghosts, the hollows, the Shinigami. That can't all be for nothing._ Hell, she had seen three different ghosts just on her way…here… _Wait, where the hell am I?_

Without even knowing it, she had worked her way to the large forest preserves that skirted the outer realms of the city. She was currently standing at a point nearly five miles from her house. _Good going, Tatsuki. Now you're far from home, on foot, haven't eaten, and the sun is already setting. And you're_ still _mad as hell._ If the current situation had any benefits, it certainly hadn't improved her mood.

She quickly scanned the forest, and seeing no one else in the vicinity—ghostly or otherwise—she sat down with her back against the tree. _I could stay here forever,_ she thought as she closed her eyes. _I could just stay here and melt into this tree, and then I wouldn't have to deal with any of the stupid nonsense that keeps raising its hideous head._

As she leaned against the bark, she thought about how Orihime would probably have loved the idea, and been giddy at the thought of living with the squirrels and helping them bury food for the winter. _Of course,_ the girl would have said, _we'll have to bury some for ourselves too, Tatsuki-chan. Will onigiri keep over the winter if you wrap them in plastic-wrap before you bury them?_

At first, the thought of Orihime made her smile. But as she remembered that the girl was _gone_ , to who knows where—except Ichigo, her mind spat, and she pointedly shoved the thought down—and the brief amusement she had was dashed.

Without her direction, whatever sense she had that was responsible for tracking Orhime reached out. Paying more attention to it now that ever before, she tried to feel it as it worked at the edges of her consciousness. It almost felt like a ribbon, a tentacle, stretching out for a point of light like a distant star that had a scent like Orihime's voice and sounded like her hair—a point it could not find, but knew _should_ be there.

This time, like many times previous in the past day, the ribbon came up empty. But instead of recoiling itself in her mind, it reached out in another direction, this time searching for a larger star, an older star. _Ichigo_ , her mind realized, even as her heart clenched. It could be no one else. It tasted like a fight. It smelled like childhood.

This search was equally fruitless. Tatsuki seized upon the thin thread and tried to hold it in the grasp of her mind, only to feel it slide through her metaphorical fingers. It was hot and cold, sharp and silk. It was _her—_ all that she was and everything she had the potential to be—but there was a sense of _other_ to it as well that intrigued her.

Tatsuki was a woman of action. Perhaps she would never learn Ichigo's secrets, no matter how entitled she felt to her share in them. But she would be damned if she didn't learn her own.

And thus it was that Arisawa Tatsuki started training herself to control her reiatsu.

* * *

For three weeks, she rode the bus for the absurd distance it took to get her to the isolated spot in the forest. She would not say that she had made a _large_ amount of progress—she still could not use the silken thread to do anything but sense what was already there—but she _had_ managed to call it forth a number of times at her will, and direct its focus. As of yet, she could still only reach out for Ichigo and Orihime, but she could control which of them it searched for and for how long.

Not bad. But not enough.

She waited nearly an hour and a half for the bus home before giving up. _Figures_ , she thought angrily, _someone must be trying to start their weekend early._ With a scowl on her face, she started to walk.

She was about half a mile from the edge of town before she sensed something was wrong. She couldn't put her finger on what it was, but it felt like the town itself was…somehow…flat?

The feeling only got worse as she drew closer. When she finally crossed into the town, a shiver ran through her body, and something that felt like silence drew over her like a cobweb. _What's happening?_ she thought, fear for her family bubbling up in her throat. There were no people present that she could see—no one walking on the sidewalks, no kids riding bikes, no cars driving in the streets.

In a panic, she rushed to her house, keeping her eyes on the sky for any monsters, regardless of the fact that she knew she would feel them if they were there.

"Dad?!" she yelled. "Mom?! MOM?!" she threw open the door and tore through her house, but no answer met her fearful calls.

The house was empty. The town was empty. With wild eyes, she stood in the doorway staring out at the houses that surrounded her, mocking real homes. _The world is made of cardboard,_ she thought.

The ribbon uncoiled and searched desperately for her two dearest friends, but as for the past three weeks, the light of their existence was cold, silent.

_I am alone._

* * *

She was not alone for long.

She felt them descend upon the town, the weight of their arrival like a crushing avalanche of rock.

 _Am I safe here?_ she doubted that hiding under the blankets of her bed would protect her from the deadly monsters she had seen battling her friends. Her question was answered a moment later when the foundations of her house rumbled and shook, like an earthquake was ripping through the city.

 _The cardboard world is collapsing,_ she thought. She would not be caught as it folded on her. Decisively, she ripped her front door open and began to run in the direction of the forest. She did not know where her parents and the real Karakura were, but _here_ was not safe. The moment she felt that the world had become tainted was when she had entered at the edge of town. She would worry about staying alive first, and figure out what to do about her family once she had regrouped in the forest and had time to _think._

It was a great plan. It was unfortunate that it didn't work.

She did not recognize the arrancar that descended on her from the sky. In fact, she only sensed it in time to turn and catch a brief glimpse of its fractured mask as it brought the sword down into the juncture of her neck.

 _There's supposed to be pain_ , she thought as darkness consumed her vision. But it was not her neck that hurt, it was the frustration of knowing there wasn't anything she could have done to stop the downward stroke of the blade.

* * *

The arrancar savored the feel of the impact that ran from the blade up her arm. _Another skull for the pile,_ she thought with mirth. She would wait only briefly. It would only take a second.

As the soul rose from the ruin of the dead girl's body, she quickly sliced the chain off at its first ring. _And another hollow for the forest of Hueco Mundo._ As a hole began to form in the girl's chest, the arrancar proceeded on her way without a second thought, answering a summons she could feel in her bones.

She didn't know that souls with the potential to become Shinigamis could fight the consuming process of becoming a hollow. If she had, she probably still wouldn't have stuck around—the girl she had just slaughtered couldn't possibly have been holding such a power in her frail human body.

* * *

She was in a dojo.

This in itself was confusing, as she had clearly remembered a sword slicing into her neck. Yet here she was, kneeling on a tatami mat. She would have been more curious about this fact if she didn't have a more pressing matter that needed attention. Namely, the large gentleman kneeling across from her, approximately twenty feet away.

He had pale skin and dark hair, but the most noticeable thing about him was his height. Kneeling on his heels, in that position he was about as tall as she would be standing.

 _Speaking of standing._ Without hesitation, Tatsuki leapt to her feet, backed away an additional five yards, and slid into a defensive stance. "Who are you?" Her voice was just shy of accusing, and certainly not friendly. For the last few months her life had been one ridiculous event after another, and it only got worse every time she tried to sort it out.

Betrayal, abandonment, and a freak monster chopping her in the neck. How much lower could her life possibly sink? Looking at the man across from her, she couldn't even guess.

* * *

_Who are you?_

He was disappointed in her reaction, but not particularly surprised. After all, before her death, he had only just broken through her consciousness. She was hardly yet aware of him, so it had been an unrealistic hope that she would recognize him for what he was right away.

Nevertheless, now was the pivotal moment. Together, they would stop her transformation into a hollow, and she would learn his name.

"I have been waiting quite a while for this moment, but now it not the time to discuss it. We are both in peril and you must act to save us. Do you understand?"

The blank face that stared back at him made his chest tighten. It could only mean one thing.

She couldn't hear him.

* * *

When the man started talking—at least, that's what she _thought_ he was doing—it did not sound to her like words, but more like the crackling of a fire, or the crash of the sea against rocks. It was at best surreal, as she could _see_ his mouth moving, and letters taking shape on his lips, but all she could hear was the crunch of dried leaves in the fall.

"I don't understand you," she growled. She wasn't sure if he was doing it on purpose, or if he could understand as little of her words as she did his, but she felt convinced that he had brought her here and that somehow this situation revolved around him. And _that_ made her wary.

As the man unfolded himself to stand, Tatsuki was once again intimidated by his size, but tried not to let it show on her face. He had to be closer to seven feet tall than to six, and as he moved she could see that his jet-black hair was pulled into a very long tail at the nape of his neck. He was wearing a black karate gi. A moment later, she realized she was as well.

"I don't know how I got here, but I want some answers." What she really wanted was to go home, but the downward slice of a sword was still fresh in her memory.

He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could make a sound a large portion of the ceiling fell down, narrowly missing her. She wheeled to avoid falling timbers, and in the process of dodging she took her eyes off of the target.

With a force that knocked the wind clean out of her lungs, the man had grabbed her in one arm and tossed backwards onto the tatami mat as if she were a rag doll. She attempted to roll away into a rise, but he had a firm grasp on her wrists.

As he angled his face down towards hers, she could see that she had been mistaken. The man did not have pale skin. He had small scales such a pale gold they were almost white layering down his face, becoming wider and more textured at the base of his neck. He stared down at her with yellow-gold eyes that looked serpentine as they narrowed, and said only three inches from her nose, "Arisawa Tatsuki, if you don't listen to me, we will both be obliterated."

* * *

It was not that he couldn't control his impulses, it was that _he was a part of her._ He had always been a part of her soul, since before this lifetime. When she was riled up and feeling backed into a corner, he found it difficult not to draw upon that emotion and let it feed his own strength.

It was how her battle strength was always meant to be. The worse things got, the harder the fight, the more desperate the cause, the more ferocious and unstoppable her response would become. It was a brilliant system for a woman dedicated her life to protecting others—her true power was reserved for the situations when it was needed the most.

Or at least, this _would_ be her strength, if she could release her zanpaktou. If she couldn't, then she would become a hollow and devour her friends with a hungry greed. He couldn't allow this to be her fate. _Their_ fate.

There was recognition in her eyes when he pinned her to the mat. She had understood his words. Obviously, the sudden alertness that had come with his attack had sharpened her spiritual awareness.

He only hoped it wasn't too little too late.

* * *

" _What!?"_

"I do not have much time to explain," he said in a deep voice, trying to be heard over the noise of the dojo falling down around them. "You are destined to be a Shinigami, and I am your zanpaktou. In the living world, you were killed and your chain of fate was severed. Now, you must find me in this, the theater of your mind."

"What do you mean find you?!" she snarled. "You're right freakin' _there!_ And what the hell is a zanpaktou, anyway? _"_

Her statement was punctuated by the collapse of the wall to her right. She ducked and rolled, only to come up at his feet. " _Sword,_ little one, I am the spirit of your sword!" he shouted over the din as another section of the room gave way. "But you must find your actual blade in this maze!"

She dodged to her left to avoid a timber. "Fine!" she yelled. "But why is this place falling apart?!"

"This is _your_ world!" he shouted. "And it is being destroyed as your soul disintegrates. If you don't find me before this world is completely ruined, you'll become a hollow."

She had a billion questions, but they died on her lips with his last word. A sense of urgency rose up in her body, and she lunged for the nearest exit so that she could begin the hunt.

Together, they rushed from room to room, dodging and weaving as the ceiling fell around them. Tearing open doors, punching through rice paper walls, Tatsuki frantically searched for the blade.

"Don't use your eyes!" the pale man shouted over the cacophony of the falling rubble.

"Then what the hell should I use?!" she flung over her shoulder.

"You must _feel_ where it is!"

"ARRRRRRGH! How do I DO that?!" Even in the destruction, she stopped the frantic pace of her feet to pivot and claw at the walls around her. "I'm so TIRED of this!" In her rage, she pulled a sliding door clean off the wall and flung it at the man's looming form. "I'm tired of not understanding anything! I'm tired of no one explaining anything! And I'm _damned_ tired of being left alone to figure it all out for myself!"

Before she could continue to help the collapse of the dojo along, she had been grasped by the collar and lifted in the air to meet her zanpaktou's narrowed eyes. "You are _not_ alone!" he roared. She had not expressly said what she meant by "left alone," but he was her zanpaktou, and he had known even before she said it. Roughly, he grabbed the entire left side of her chest with a large hand, his fingers bruising her ribcage. "They are _here_ , in your heart!They have _always_ been here! How do you think that I can find them anywhere in the world?! How do you think I can _feel_ them, even now?!"

His voice rumbled in a growl, "It does not matter what happened. If you do not forgive them now, you will never see them again."

 _How do you think I can_ feel _them, even now?_ Suddenly, it all coalesced in her mind. In the forest… _the sound of Orihime's hair, the taste of a fight, the slide of a hot but cold ribbon between her fingers…_ the thread. It was her zanpaktou. And if she could grasp it like she did in the forest, she could find it.

The tempo of the crashing wood around her increased, but in her world was silence. Ignoring everything, she reached out, looking for the string.

_There._

Racing down the hall even as it fell away behind her, she tore open the last door on the left. There, at the far end of the room was her zanpaktou resting on a sword rack, it's pale gold hilt shining brilliantly, even in the dust being kicked up by the room's collapse.

"NOW!" cried the man above the sounds of destruction. "Pick me up! You must do it now!"

Her feet were moving, even as the world was falling apart.

"Ryuujin!" he called. "SAY IT! My name is Ryuujin!"

As she neared the stand, a large beam fell from the ceiling and knocked her to her knees. "Ryuu..." She stretched out her arm as far as she could, feeling like the joints would tear. The tips of her fingernails brushed the ebony sheath…

…only to feel the draft as the floor under the rack fell away, plunging the sword and that entire side of the room into a growing abyss.

_I'm too late._

She looked into the void as Ryuujin spiraled into darkness. She could no longer feel his presence. All she could feel was a growing emptiness in her chest as it too began to cave in.

* * *

Ichigo sliced through the hollow easily, not even noticing the way the pale gold of its hide glittered as it shattered into dust. Since the winter war had drawn to a close four days ago, he and the other Shinigami had been working tirelessly to remove an infestation of hollows from the fake Karakura before the real town and its sleeping inhabitants were replaced. Apparently Aizen had flooded the town with scores of them from Hueco Mundo during the attack. No doubt he had thought it would provide an additional distraction to the forces of Seireitei during the war.

Ichigo could only smirk at the thought of how wrong Aizen had been.

He had been working almost the whole day straight, cleaving hollow after hollow so that the real Karakura could be safely returned. He was nothing short of anxious to see his family and friends, and to apologize for everything leading up to bloody war. Just thinking of it caused sigh of relief to slide from his throat, even as his sword swung in deadly arcs.

He was a little worried about how to apologize to Tatsuki, but he was sure he'd think of something. He'd apologized for quite a number of ridiculous things over the past eleven years, and in each instance there were two things that were constant in the interactions: 1) Her eyebrows always scrunched together just a split second before she punched him in the nose, and 2) she had always forgiven him in the end. In his heart, he could feel that this time would be no different.

Aizen was defeated. Orihime was rescued. His father, sisters, and friends had been safe the whole time in Soul Society, and now that the battle was over, everything could finally be explained, and everyone could move forward—their bonds with each other tighter than ever before.

Unaware that the last of Tatsuki's soul particles were falling around him like ash, he raced to the next fight, eager to bring his friends home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ryuujin-Dragon King
> 
> Author's Note #2: I think there's some overlap here in the name of her zanpakuto and General Yamamoto's, but I didn't know that when it was originally written. *Shrug*
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this fic. I will try my best not to disappoint you on the happy ending.


	6. Catch the Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: This story is dedicated to all those warrior women (and men) out there that are never issued a literal sword, but seem to carry one with them their whole lives nonetheless. Here is the much anticipated epilogue, to take the sting of the last five chapters away.

* * *

**Epilogue: Catch the Wind**

_When rain has hung the leaves with tears_  
I want you near, to kill my fears  
To help me to leave all my blues behind  
Standing in your heart  
Is where I want to be, and long to be  
Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind  
-Catch the Wind  
by Donovan

* * *

Cosmically speaking, somehow it figured that the week her friends were to come back from Hueco Mundo, she was dreadfully sick with the flu. Having been out of school all week, she was stuck in her bed, blowing her nose and heaving into a nearby trash can when she felt Orihime's presence return to this world late the night before. And, as an added bonus, she realized that in a smaller, but similar way, she could also sense Ichigo's return as well.

Even in all her stuffed-up misery, she could feel tension that had been locked in her jaw and shoulders ease. _They've returned,_ her mind chanted, _and they're safe._ Despite all of the conflicting feelings that had been twisting her in knots, she had never been so grateful for something in her entire life.

In the back of her mind somewhere, she wondered if it wasn't more than just a weird coincidence. Not just that she happened to be sick when they returned, but the _dreams_ that had characterized her illness during what must have been the last week of their fight.

For the last five days, she had had the strangest fever dreams she could ever remember having as she phased in and out of fitful sleep. They were each extremely different in setting and plot—remembering the one involving Keigo made her uncomfortably flush in a way the fevers never could—but they all hinged on her feelings of anger and betrayal that had exploded when she confronted Ichigo, just before he left.

Between all the odd dreamscapes, it was no wonder she wasn't quite sure to make of the scene at her window when she turned to the scraping sound she heard there. Through bleary, runny eyes, she saw Ichigo crouched on the ledge, black kimono billowing in the breeze. This, despite it being approximately four in the afternoon and her window facing the street. _Another dream?_ With the sickness—and the craziness of _real_ life—she swore it was getting hard to tell.

No, not a dream. There was no way she could have imagined the contrite look on his face. He was trying to hide it, but she did not think she had seen him look so anxious since they were four and bowing before a spar.

She had been so mad at him. So _hurt._ In the moment he had walked away without looking back, she had been so white-hot angry that she didn't think she would ever get over it—that things would ever be right between them. How could she sit in a classroom with him, be in a group of friends with him after something like that? How could she look at his face and not see the contempt she thought she had seen in his eyes when he told her to but out? Even following him to the strange shop and getting the run-down of the game and its players from that Urahara guy hadn't done much to alleviate her feelings. If anything it made her feel _worse._ Something THIS huge, involving no less than three realms of existence—with Ichigo somehow at the center of all—and he didn't even confide the smallest shred of the situation to her. How could she help but feel monumentally slighted? Mistrusted?

Unbelievably, it was the flu that gave her a better perspective after two weeks of misery, anger, and loneliness. Being stuck in a bed gives you nothing but troubled sleep, extra mucous, and time to think, and think she did—particularly on the dreams. Like an endless parade of the ways things _could_ have gone, the wretched phantasmagoria of regretful dreams all ended the same way: her feeling even more miserable than when she started, only to be honestly and utterly relieved when she realized none of them had actually happened.

Reflecting on a week's worth of fortunate reprieves, her acidic anger had burned away as her antibodies courageously mounted their defense. She was still _hurt_ , and sad, and confused, but those feelings too had mellowed into something less caustic. She would by no means let Ichigo slide for his outrageous oversights, and she would certainly hammer a satisfactory explanation out of him one way or the other, but it simply wasn't in her anymore to want to hurt him back.

_Had I really felt that?_ she had asked herself, ashamed. _Had I really wanted him to suffer as I felt he made me suffer?_ She hadn't thought so at first, but she could not deny that the feeling had tempted her heart in a terrible manner. After all, didn't the dreams reflect that? Leaving him so that he could be tormented with his guilt. Forcing him to die with it. Forcing him to kill her. Weren't they all just avenues to torture him for his slight?

Once recognized, she abandoned such feelings in her heart. They weren't her. They weren't _worthy_ of her. She would face this like she faced all the thousands of challenges that had ever been before her—directly.

Which brought her to the situation now, and a situation she hardly approved of—for her case, anyway. Yes, she wasn't livid anymore, but was it too much to ask to not be congested and nauseous for this moment?

For a long time, neither of them said anything, but simply stared and one another. Tatsuki was waiting for whatever he had prepared— _I mean, he couldn't have just jumped into my window without a plan, right?—_ and Ichigo stayed still, waiting for her to land the first blow, as she deserved.

After a while, when the pressure in her sinuses wouldn't let her raise her head to stare any longer, she tiredly flopped her head back down on the pillow. _Just like the dojo that first time,_ she thought. _I'll have to make the first move._

"I had a dream," she said on a sigh. "Lots of dreams. And there was a dumbass in every one of them."

She couldn't see it, but some of the worry slid from his face. He truly hadn't known if she would ever speak to him again, and it had frightened him. "And did that dumbass tell you he was sorry?"

"No," she said, her arm covering her feverish face. "He never got the chance."

Taking her tone as a good sign, he unfolded himself from the window sill to stand inside her room, "Then I'm glad they were just dreams."

Lacking the energy to keep picking her head up, she motioned him to her bedside and scooted over. Instead of sitting down, he cautiously stood next to the side of her mattress. "I went to school this morning and they told me you had been absent all week," he said, as if he felt the urge to explain. "I didn't want to gamble on you being there tomorrow, so I just came here after school."

She nodded her head, and refrained from mentioning his lack of a body. She didn't want to explain how she knew she was looking at his soul—she didn't know if Urahara had told him about their little visit, and she didn't want to explain.

When she didn't say anything, he tried to press forward. "Look, Tatsuki…" he trailed off after the beginning, as if he didn't know how to continue. _A rush to get over here after school, and he has nothing. He really_ is _a dumbass._ "I just…" The second start was no good either.

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Ugh. You're making my head hurt worse with all the false starts, carrot top. And it's hard for me to keep looking up at your scowly face when I'm so stuffed up. Will you sit down already?" She thumped the bed next to her with an open palm.

For a few moments he just stood as still as a tree, looking at her as if weighing a decision. Then finally, he carefully placed his sword on the floor and moved towards the mattress. Instead of sitting down, he slid along side her and pressed his temple against hers, like how they used to sleep when they were five and Tatsuki's parents left her at Ichigo's when they traveled on business.

Her heart stuttered over the memory. Even in his own house, Ichigo had the tendency to be afraid of the dark. He had once told her it was because he could see _people_ in it, wandering around, but at the time she had thought he just wanted an excuse for his fear.

_I won't hold your hand,_ she had told him _, because that's sissy stuff._ Her parents loved her, but were often away. They didn't hold her hand much. As a result, she associated holding hands with Ichigo and his mother, and _that_ made her think of his tendency to cry at the dojo. She didn't want to encourage his being a cry-baby…but at the same time, she could tell he was really afraid, too.

_I won't hold your hand, but if you want, you can scoot over close to me and I'll protect you. I'm not afraid of anything in the dark. I'll kick its butt if it tries to get us!_ Even when small, Tatsuki had always been fearless. Grateful for her confidence and reassurance, every time she stayed over Ichigo slid as close to her as he could, and even inclined his head towards her, _away_ from the figures that sometimes stood at the edge of his bed.

Reflecting on it now, Tatsuki realized that _they had really been there._ He had really seen things in the night. She wasn't sure how to feel about it now. If she had known, would she have held his hand?

"I know that you're pissed at me for not telling you about…well…about everything," he was saying in the present day, staring up at the ceiling. "But it wasn't because I think you, or Keigo, or Mizuiro are weak or anything like that. It wasn't because I thought you didn't deserve to know."

There was a pause, like he was trying to get his words together, and she couldn't resist proding, "Then what _was_ it, Ichigo?" Her voice was tired. "What could have possibly been worth the burden of keeping up those kind of appearances?"

He shifted a little at her side. His shoulders were considerably wider than when they were five, and the position, while nostalgic, was difficult to maintain. "For most of this time, I thought it was because I wanted to protect you. I thought that if you didn't _have_ to get involved in this mess with the rest of us, then it would be safer for you _not_ to." Here, Tatsuki snorted loudly, and it was not lost on Ichigo. " _But,_ " he said in a if-you-would-just-let-me-finish tone, "it became clear to me the day that the Espada almost killed you outside the dojo that that was a stupid dream. Obviously you were still in danger, and I couldn't even…" he paused in an angry silence, directed at himself, she was sure. "Between Chad, Orihime, and I, we _still_ could defeat the two Espada, and the three of you almost lost your lives because of it."

She could tell it was a hard admission, so Tatsuki resisted the urge to point out that he had had quite some time after this event to tell her the truth, and hadn't. She had a feeling he would bring this story around in due time, anyway.

"You don't understand— _nobody_ understands the burden I'm carrying around on my back right now. It's not the training. It's not the fighting. It's not that I'm putting my life on the line," in his voice, she could detect a slight waver starting to creep into the edges, "it's knowing that if I'm not strong enough, someone will die. _Someone I care about will die._ I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop turning it over in my mind. There are some nights I can't even sleep for the fear of it."

He let the silence stretch, but Tatsuki said nothing. She could tell instinctively that what he needed was not assurance, or kind, empty words, but space to sort it all out.

Because he hadn't continued his thoughts out loud, his next statement was a non-sequiter. "I just wanted it to be normal with you."

Tatsuki's eyes drew together, and let out a laugh that, with her stuffed up sinuses, sounded like a bark. "Ichigo, think hard about that statement. When have _I_ ever been normal?"

She could feel him smile. "Alright, _true_ , but that's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

His voice got instantly serious, and she almost regretted it. "Those fears I have, about myself. They have them too. About me, I mean. I can see it in their eyes. When Orihime, or Rukia, or even Chad look at me, I can feel them wondering. Thinking, 'Can he do it?' They are so happy and relieved every time the fight is won, but underneath that is always the question of next time. When the opponent is even stonger, the fight even tougher, will he be able to do it? Will this be the time that he fails? And even worse, I can see they think that if I _do_ fail, all will be lost.

"It's so heavy," he said. "Their fear for me, their expectations, they're all so _heavy."_ He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "I didn't want to look at you and see the same stare. I thought, if you didn't know, then I wouldn't have to look at you and see you doubting me. To you, I would just be the same old dumbass Ichigo. And if you thought of me as that person, then maybe I could still _be_ that person, at least while I'm around you, and not…whatever it is I've become."

His words had all flowed out, a gushing torrent, and she could feel his relief at the loss of their pressure in his chest. She, in turn, had taken them all in, and was ready to turn the tide. She was not strong enough to fight hollows, but this was within her power. He wasn't broken, not yet. But even without looking at his face, she could feel the cracks in his soul that needed to be smoothed over with glue.

She began by fixing their positions, which had begun to give her a crick in her neck. Leaning forward, she grabbed his arm nearest her and slid it under her neck, laying her head on his shoulder. Instantly, she could feel the twists in her body relax. _Childhood memories are great, but we're not three feet tall anymore._

"We've both grown up a lot in these last ten years, Ichigo. And it's not just that you're wearing kimonos and swinging a sword around. We've _both_ grown and changed. But that isn't anything to be afraid of. Just look at this," she said, indicating their new positions by thumping her head on his shoulder. "I've changed the gesture, but not the meaning of it. I'm still here to kick the ass of anything that scares you."

"The things I've been seeing have gotten a whole lot more formidable than ghosts at the foot of the bed, Tats."

She dramatically rolled her eyes. "I didn't say I would take on hollows," _yet_ , she amended in her mind, "I said I would beat up what _scares you._ You're not scared of hollows, or arrancar, or Espada, you're scared of yourself." She rolled her head to the side so that she could look at him while she said what came next. "You have _always_ been your own biggest enemy, Ichigo, with your stubbornness, your self-recriminations, your unwillingness to let anyone _help you_ because you think they'll get hurt. Your self-doubt has always been your own greatest fear. Has been since you were nine. Some things about us have changed, but the essentials haven't. I might not know the specifics of _what_ you're thinking all the time, but I can recognize _how_ you're thinking on that scowly face of yours a mile away.

"I can't currently win against an Espada," she said, and refused to feel shame at the admittance, "but I can still kick _you_ in the ass when you get all caught up in your stupid self-defeating thoughts. After all, wailing on you is one of the things I've always done best."

The quietness stretched after her diatribe, and she let her words sink in. Tatsuki knew how to use silence as a tool when talking; she did not need to fill the pause in conversation with unnecessary words to convince him of her strength as a friend and ally. His internal dialogue didn't need her chatter—give a person enough silence, and they will convince _themselves_ what's real. Give Ichigo enough reflection time, and he would see how he had not only been an idiot to try and push her away, he was weaker for it as well.

Her cleverness was overruled by her illness. A dreadful tickle in her sinus built until she simply couldn't hold it back any longer and sneezed into her hand. _Ugh. Grossest way to ruin a moment ever,_ she thought, holding a handful of mucous.

Just as she was about to grasp for a tissue, she felt Ichigo's chest start to rumble with laughter. He tried to contain it, but to no avail, and soon he was laughing louder and harder than it seemed he had in years. With her gunk-free hand, she slapped him in the torso, "Shut up, strawberry, unless you want me to wipe it on you." Even with the threat, she couldn't keep the humor out of her voice, and his amusement resonated in the air of the room.

They were just two teenagers, laughing at snot. In the moment, they both felt utterly…normal. It was a euphoric sensation.

With the hand not attached to the arm currently under Tatsuki, he wiped away moisture from the corner of his eyes. "My sides hurt," he said as the laughter died down. "That was excellent, Tats. Way to sneeze." He then promptly rolled towards her and leaned over her chest to grab a tissue.

The proximity of his face above hers and he reached for the Kleenex suddenly jolted her memory of _other_ components in her dream. If she had not been feverish already, her cheeks would have flushed crimson.

_I loved you!_ the dream-Ichigo had shouted as he pushed the sword through her back. _I know how you feel about Ichigo,_ Keigo had said. There had been an element of it in every dream. She hadn't just wanted to get _back_ at him, he wanted him to _return her feelings—_ feelings that she hadn't been to keen on admitting to herself, much less anyone else.

For a split moment, she thought she was going to panic over all the what-if's that came with the realization—What if he found out and it ruined their friendship? What if Orihime found out and it ruined _their_ friendship? What if he was already in love with someone else?—But just as the feeling was beginning to surge in her throat, she could sense a hot-cold coil of ribbon unfurl in her chest, and her turbulent worry subsided in its wake. She could not say how, but she understood its message: _You could not run away from your anger towards him; you cannot run from your love for him either._ She let the inevitability of it wash over her like a calming sea.

_I am in love with Ichigo_ , she conceded to herself, and for once there was no guilt or embarrassment. _And hiding it, denying it, and agonizing over it in secret are not going to_ change _it._ The admission was liberating.

She did not know, in the end, if her feelings would ever come to anything. She did not know if he felt the same. She did not know how to resolve her feelings for Ichigo with the feelings she knew Orihime had for him, which is why she would not chase. _But_ , she thought as she looked at his dumb face waving a tissue in front of her nose, _I'm not going to run, either._

"Thanks," she said, taking the proffered tissue and wiping her hands. "I'd call you a gentleman, but I know you just didn't want me to smear it all over your pretty dress."

"Hey!" he said in mock outrage. "This is the official attire of a Shinigami, and it _isn't_ a dress!"

"It's got a skirt, doesn't it? You're wearing a dress. Never thought you'd be the little-black-number type," she said and smiled into his shoulder.

"It's _not_ a skirt—it's split down the center into legs!"

"So it's a coolot?" She couldn't be sure, but she thought he was getting actually starting to get irritated. _I don't think he ever considered that it may look like a dress before, and now he's worried. All the scowling in the world won't save his image if he's wearing a dress._

"Tatsuki…" he said in a warning voice.

"Cool it, Strawberry. I'm just playing. After all, _one_ of us has to wear the skirt in this friendship, and we know my track record with skirts isn't all that great."

"Yeah, like that one time you slipped on the escalator at the mall and everyone behind you got to see your—"

" _Shut up about that!_ " she yelled, punching him in the stomach.

"Ooff!—pink panties," he finished. She looked at him for a second and briefly pondered why he didn't blush at the mention of girls' underwear. In the past, such sensitive topics had caused him to stammer like and idiot. Just as quickly, she brushed it off. She didn't know _what_ he had been doing while gallivanting around in soul society, but if someone somewhere had managed to shock him out of such squeamishness, good for them.

In the middle of eating massive amounts of food at Urahara's shop, Yoruichi sneezed.

"Hmph. See if I ever wear _those_ again," she grumbled to herself as he chuckled.

Through the windows, the rays of the setting sun were turning from orange to red, and Tatsuki was finding herself regretting the inevitable moment when the pause in the conversation would stretch too long and he would decide it was time for him to leave. _Or…_

"So. Only a spiritual aware person can see you in your Shinigami form, right?"

"Right."

"Which is why I shouldn't worry that my neighbors saw you climbing in my bedroom window in broad daylight."

"Phffft. Since when have _you_ been worried about what people think?" He seemed to miss the true implications of her words, but she was unsurprised. Ichigo might well be the most oblivious person she had ever met.

"So, if my parents walked into this room right now, what would they see?"

"They would see you talking to yourself." He smiled, "They would _not_ see me, laughing my ass off. But I'd be here laughing all the same."

"Alright then," she said, "here's what we're going to do. _I'm_ sick as hell, and _you_ just came back from a war. I think we've both earned a rest. So we're going take it."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean we're going to get some sleep," she said as she rolled slightly towards him, and slapping his shoulder a number of times—hard—before resting her head back down.

"I—you mean here?" she could feel his body tense up. "You want me to sleep with y.. uh… you want me to sleep—sleep here?" Tatsuki had the remedy for his sudden awkwardness—a hard punch to the kidney. It was easy when his hips were so close. "Oww! What was that for?"

"Don't get all weirded out over sleep, dumbass," she said as she continued to arrange herself into a comfortable position. "It'll keep me awake."

It took ten minutes for him to release the awkward tension in the arm underneath her, and fifteen minutes more for him to relax into her side. She smirked to herself. A billion questions could have been plagued her, from what this arrangement was supposed to mean, to what _he_ thought this arrangement was supposed to mean, but she purged such worries from her mind. It didn't matter what it meant, it was enough that the moment _was._ She let her consciousness share the serenity in the atmosphere in the room, like the perfect, mirrored surface of a calm lake. The sense of peace was so deep that it was not even broken when he turned to rest his chin on the top of her head and her heart skipped a beat.

She would not be having nightmares tonight.

She was just drifting to sleep when his voice again rose to her ears. "Peaceful moments like this," he said into her hair, "they've been so hard to come by. Like trying to catch the wind."

She had not missed the weariness in his voice. Or the hope. "Dumbass. Didn't you just see me catch that sneeze?" She smiled into his neck, her eyelashes brushing against the line of his jaw. "You've come to the right place, Ichigo," she said.

_At last._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Note #2: This story is now complete! I hope you've all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you have(n't), now's the time to shoot me a review and tell me what I did right/wrong. Constructive criticism is always welcomed, encouraged, and very much appreciated. Even if you find this story years after I completed it, I still check my messages and *squee* over every review I get, and I would love to hear from you.
> 
> Thank you for reading all of my rambling words. You're all aces!


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